City of the Fallen
by PenAndInkpad
Summary: -Begins at Pre-"Dark Knight"- Eva Duren is young female officer at the GPD is working to bring down the criminals in Gotham. However when the Joker rises to power and she is in his way, she finds herself #1 on his most wanted dead list.
1. The Club

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

--

Gotham, the city of the fallen, the city of the crusader cloaked by darkness and feared by all. The sun is now setting as I walk down the ruins of what us Gotham citizens call a sidewalk. Street lights are commencing to flicker on; their lights shine off the grease in the streets as cars bustle by. Smells from the alleys slither up my nose, filling my sinus with a horrible plethora of stenches.

My nose wrinkles.

As I walk, I watch the sun set in the reflection of corporate buildings, as if its light rays are waving goodbye for the next 12 hours or so. I am tempted to wave back, as some kind of sick joke, but I choose to not.

I sweep my lengthy brown bangs out of my eyes with a quick flick of my bony index finger. I scan my eyes across the streets making sure some creep isn't ogling me, you can never be too careful, here, in Gotham.

I walk still along the pavement, staring at Gotham coming to life. It's almost like its breathing.

1635 was when this city was founded; an English colony built upon trade from the start and had stayed that way ever since, however it was no longer a legal trade. Drugs and illegal items are sold and the rate of criminals in this city is high. This is a city where criminals flourish like roaches and the law enforcement flee like rats in a sewer. I am one of those rats, my name is Eva Duren, police officer and I am proud to say I work for the Gotham Police Department aka the GPD. I am one of the few female officers in our pursuit to bring the criminals in this town down. The GPD is infamous for its corruption, bad cops, fuzz, whatever you want to call them, but the hard part was to weed them out.

I've been a cop for about a year now and a little over six months ago, the GPD was crawling with lying scum, the Mob's men, dripping into our decaying system like acid, corroding us, screwing up our operations. However, a little over six months ago, Gotham changed, forever. Our angel we had all been praying for had finally fallen from hell's heaven to help us in our solemn hour, the Batman.

He says little, asks for nothing.

He's our savior, secretly I think.

Since his reign, most of the corrupt up cops have left, running with their sleazy tail between their trembling legs and tonight as I am walking to the club _Fantasia_ I don't fear the streets alone as much as I once did, for I know he is here.

In Gotham.

I can now see the club. I am meeting my fellow female officer and best friend, Ilia Rendell. It's a Saturday night, and we intend to spend it unwinding.

I reach the club.

Its cheesy neon lights flashing above me, _**FANTASIA**_, I open the swinging door and a large familiar burly bouncer is waiting to "greet" me.

Yeah Right.

"Name?" he questions, I roll my eyes and respond, "Eva Duren, I'm here for a friend, I believe she's already in there," I raise my eyebrows, lean slightly to my right side, pointing at the door behind him, "Ilia? Ilia Rendell? We come here, like uh I don't know, every Saturday Night? Come on, you know me by now, right? You now finally know I'm not gonna pull anything." He then has a look of sudden remembrance, poor guy; I think I maybe should have lain off the sarcasm. He steps aside and nods, his best effort at being un-curt. I flash a fake smile and walk past him.

As far as clubs go in Gotham, _Fantasia_ is alright, but it's convenient. I look around, the song "Ricochet" by Shiny Toy Guns is playing, people are dancing throughout the club, bright white strobe lights are occasionally flashing, the lighting is a dim bluish purple and a thick musk hovers in the air. I look forward towards the center of the exotic club. At the hub there is a huge 360 degree round bar and there sure enough, is Ilia, but she's not alone. A male, attractive, is talking to her. I begin to shove my way through the throng of people towards Ilia; the strobe lights that flash occasionally are making my vision a bit disorientated. Now I am within earshot of the male and Ilia, however, instead of walking up right away, I have decided to wait and see how this plays out.

"Can I get you a drink?" the male questions, leaning on one of the retro baby blue padded high top chairs seated next to Ilia's. His body language is suggestive. She is turned sideways facing him, her right arm draped across the bar's glass countertop.

"Nah, look bud, I don't drink, thanks" she smiles as if saying, "Nice try." I know that look.

"Can, I um get you a soda or anything babe?"

Ilia's mouth gapes open a little bit and her eyelids lower, he's not getting the message and that message is, leave.

"I don't drink soda, look, pal, I'm here to meet a friend, but it was nice meeting you, oh and I am not your 'babe'." She dismisses the rejected testosterone with a waving hand and turns back to the bar. I saunter up.

"Hey babe!" I say slyly in the lowest octave I could muster in my high voice. Her back is turned to me; she slumps over with tight shoulders.

Obviously pissed.

Ilia turns to face me, and then a grin spread across her face.

Her cheekbones raised high, directly underneath her saucer oceanic eyes. Her eyelashes naturally curled skyward. Her tan skin and dark hair complement her fierce features incredulously. Ilia is also a tall woman, as opposed to myself, she reaches a height of 5 10', intimidating, I guess what one could compare her to would be like a female lioness.

She looks and _is_untamable.

"What's crackin'?" she says calm now, patting the high top chair to the right of her for me to sit down. I acquiesce; I'm glad to be with my friend.

"Nothing really, rough week at work, I like this club vibe here, it's a huge relief from the stress the Commissioner puts on us, Loeb's been packing on the paperwork. Lots of bank robberies, I mean first the mob, now this shit, it truly is a crazy little world we live in." A bartender walks up to Ilia and I, he asks what I'd like. I just request water and Ilia does the same.

I don't like to drink.

"Yeah, hey, look you wanna go dance? I like this song," Ilia is rapping her knuckles on the glass countertop of the bar, tapping along to the slow but sophisticated beat. I eye the dancing mass of humanity throughout the club, swaying almost in a sensual manner back and forth; I am contented listening to the music.

"_For now we stand alone  
The world is lost and blown  
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate  
With no more to hate"_

"Well, I was actually wondering if we could talk about work for a little bit," I feel a bit uneasy for some reason, I think it is probably because, I know Ilia doesn't really want to talk about this. I hope she will not get cranky.

"Alright, what do you wanna talk about?"

"Just work, in general, like do you know about any trials coming up? I heard that the new DA is trying Maroni, or did I hear wrong?"

"Yeah, I heard about that, what are his charges?"

"I was hoping you'd know," I give Ilia a skeptical look as I say this. She responds with an answer I often hear.

"Nope, I'm outta the loop."

"Hm," I mumble in agreement while sipping at my chilly water and then place it back down on the countertop.

"_And in your darkest hour  
I hold secrets flame"_

"So, um, what do you think about the new DA, Harvey Dent?" I ask Ilia, pondering what she will say next.

"Who, butt chin boy, ugh, frankly, I don't know how you think he's handsome." I roll my eyes to defend Mr. Dent, Gotham's White Knight.

"No, that's not what I meant; I meant what do you think of him as a DA, Ilia, a DA."

"Oh, ok, well I like him; I mean I don't really know him, g-u-d-d-d a-a-a h-i-p-p- s-m-e-a-c-hsk," Ilia slurps at her water during these last few words and it sounds ridiculous so we both burst out laughing. She ends up spewing water all over the countertop. Ilia flags down the bartender for a paper towel so she can clean up her mess, he nods chuckling to himself and brings one to her. About a minute later we calm down and I ask to clarify what her final words were.

"What?"

"I said he's good at his speeches, I mean you hear the guy talk it's like listening to like a Greek philosopher." Another round of laughter erupts from the both of us.

"On a more serious note, I really do think he's going to help clean up Gotham a lot though, we really need someone like that right now," I complement.

"What about Batman?"

"What about him?" I asked surprised, I know how Ilia "feels" about him.

"What do you think about 'em?" I now know I am going into testy waters as she interrogates me on my opinions about the vigilante. I shift a little in my seat before answering.

"I don't know, sort of mixed feelings I guess, you?"

"He's B.S." Ilia snorts impatiently.

"Why do you say that?"

"Um, I don't know, maybe 'cause he's a vigilante."

"I know that but, for the time being we need him as much as we need Dent."

"Whatever you say," I know Ilia wants to say more. More stabs at the Batman.

"Like I said, mixed feelings…" My voice drifts off on those last two words.

"_And now the kingdom comes  
Crashing down undone  
And I am a master of a nothing place  
Of recoil and grace"_

"So the Narrows, have you heard anything? Have we caught all the inmates that got loose from Arkham Asylum a few months back?" I think semi-asking the question again in my own mind.

"Yeah, I think, like I said, I'm outta the loop," In her hand, Ilia is making the water in her cup spin like a whirl pool, rotating her hand around and around. It reminds me of the turmoil of insanity that ravages this city from time to time.

"Hm, hey, have you heard about the bank robbery down at Gotham's National Bank? I heard about it one day while I was doing paperwork, Gordon wanted me to stay behind when they all hightailed it to the scene," I was in a way pissed. Gordon is always watching out for me, just because I'm young or something.

"Yeah there's been quite a few, 'cept the Mob isn't behind it or so I heard. I heard it was some freak that wears like makeup or whatever."

"What?! Are you serious? How do you know?" I was kind of taken back a little by the last comment of Ilia's; makeup?

"Dead serious, I don't joke about that kinda crap. I was also on the scene, this guy's a weird fella, he left like a joker playing card. I guess it's his trademark, this guys nuts, but he's a nobody, he's got no connections. Although this isn't his first robbery, he's also hit a few other banks. We still have nothing on him. Loeb told me to go to the scene... you were stuck back at the station doing, whatever it was you were doing, which I now that it was paperwork, so, yeah."

There was an awkward pause.

"I knew there was a bank robbery, I didn't know that it was non-mob related," I am now pondering, and this panic feeling in my gut is chewing at my innards.

Paranoid.

Who the hell is this guy?

I voice what I am thinking, but watered down.

"Do you think it's anything to worry about? What's Gordon say?" I ask Ilia this and a angsty grin sprawls across her lips.

"You worry so much sometimes, I doubt it's anything to worry about. Gordon says we should keep going after the Mob; we need to bring 'em down. Like I said, the guy's go not connects. He robbed a Mob bank you know, so now, he's 'prolly got the mob after him," Ilia says casually glugging at her water.

"_Is it bright where you are  
Have the people changed  
Does it make you happy you're so strange"_

Time passes as we continue to chatter and the club begins to fill with more people about every ten minutes or so. I like the environment, the feel, the vibe. It makes me want to dance and fills me with a sense of invincibility, the feeling of a youth, it's a feeling that makes one think they are going to live forever and I love it. I still am young, I'm only 23. I went to college when I was eighteen and got a degree in forensic study and psychology. A little while afterward I entered the Gotham Police Academy, a year later I graduated and entered the work force. One year later, I'm still alive and in this city, that's a good thing. The same goes for Ilia, we grew up together and chose the same career paths, so here and together we stand.

"Come on, I _really_ like this song, can we please dance now?" Ilia sounds almost desperate. I consider it while trying to identify what song is playing; it is "Predator" by Collide.

I think about it.

"You know I think I'm going to stay here just relax to this one-,"I am cut off in the middle of my sentence, mouth slightly ajar when Ilia begins to speak.

"Again? Come on, I don't wanna go out there by myself. Please?" Her faced is pinched in true desperation, I have to bite my tongue not to laugh at her pitied ridden face.

"I'm not going to go, but I'm not stopping you."

"Alright fine, I'll go just watch my purse." Ilia throws it to me and instinctively I catch it. I then place the purse at my feet so I can keep an eye on it.

Ilia lets out a grunt, bounds off her high top, gives me a look like, 'your loss,' and trounces off into the horde of dancing souls.

For a few minutes I am sitting alone at the bar.

Bored.

I consider going to go and dance with her until a warm hand places itself lightly upon my shoulder. I turn to look to see who it is. It's the new guy, fresh out of college as one of our new detectives down at the GPD. His name is Lucas Marks, and a huge grin is spread across his face. I smile lightly, I feel my cheeks begin to glow.

"Hey, didn't expect to see you here tonight," he says calmly, his voice is the sound equivalent to hot chocolate. His eyes are a light brown with matching light brown hair; he's tall, tan and has a wonderfully bright smile that could make any girl feel special.

"Yep, same to you, Ilia and I have been coming here every Saturday night for about two months," I respond, thankful that the club is dim or else he would see my pink cheeks.

"Hm, a buddy of mine told me to check this place out, so I took his advice, so here I am," He shrugs while taking what was Ilia's seat a few minutes ago.

"Yep, it's alright here, so anyways, how do you like your new job," I elbow him playfully.

"It's good, can't complain," He nods while laughing that wonderful rich laugh of his.

I smile.

"Loeb's kinda harsh though," he adds.

I nod in agreement.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" This reminds me of the incident earlier between Ilia and the other man, however going against what I would usually say, I decide to let loose a little.

"Oh, I'm okay, I just pay for it myself, I'd feel bad if you did," I lied innocently.

"No, Really, its fine, what do you want?" He says with a smile on that perfect face.

"Um, a vodka and cranberry juice will do just fine."

"Alright, hey, excuse me sir, can I get a vodka and cranberry juice for the Miss here," he says giving me a quick grin as he orders my drink.

"Yes Sir," the bartender replies.

About thirty seconds later, my drink arrives.

"Thank you Lucas," I say politely.

"You welcome. I know this may seem kind of sudden, but, are you seeing anyone?"

I am embarrassed to admit, I have never had I "boyfriend" in my life, so I obviously don't have one now.

"No, why?" I ask, knowing what to expect next.

"Well, I was wondering, if you'd like to get together some time, maybe I could take you out or-"he's twiddling his thumbs.

"I'd love too," I smile with delight. I begin to drink my vodka and cranberry juice.

"So how about Monday night? We can go out to eat, I'll pick you up around eight?"

"Again, I'd love to, I'll give you directions," I say sounding glad but not too elated.

"Great!"He concludes the inviting, clearly thrilled. It is cute, and he is like an excited little boy in a toy store. But now it's getting awkward, I don't know what to say, neither does he, but thankfully however, Ilia shows up at the scene. She's sweating with yet again, another irritated look on her fierce face.

"Let's go, that weirdo from earlier is still here, still trying to hit on me and I am still saying, well, isn't it self-explanatory?" She throws her arms up, defeated. ilia rolls her eyes upward and snatches her purse that she had left at my feat to guard.

I nod.

When Ilia is angry, you listen, or you get the anger thrown your way.

"Well, I'll see you around, Lucas," I say to him slipping out of the chair and walking towards Ilia, who is already walking out the door. I scurry up to her; I sometimes feel like her pet.

We exit the club and find ourselves curbside eyeing the marvelous nightlife of Gotham.

I feel a tiny bit edgy; it is very ominous out tonight.

Together, Ilia and I live in the same apartment complex, it borderlines the Narrows, I know it is not the most magnificent place to reside but it is what we can afford. On the plus side, the bathrooms are very clean; I tend to be a bit of a freak about dirty bathroom. However on the downside, the apartments are pretty creepy to walk to at night, and it takes about fifteen minutes to reach it by foot from _Fantasia_.

_Fantasia_ is only a few blocks away, so there was no need to drive. Right now though, I find myself wishing we had brought a vehicle. We commence to walk, and for the first five minutes it is silent. I am still, as an adult and have grown up here, am blown away by Gotham at night. The sounds, it feels like it is _living_. The buildings tower over us, looming giving the feeling of a false sense of security.

Like lying sentinels.

As we advance deeper into the streets to reach our apartment the sound fades away and the lights seems to turn from their golden-yellow to a dark orange. The streets seem to almost become giant chunks of rubble, and then I remind myself that I am in the really cruddy part of Gotham, the nastiest next to the Narrows. Smells of urine and garbage are hovering throughout the air. There is no moon tonight.

The darkness sings out from the alleyways with spindly shadows.

Fog is rolling in.

The buildings drip with condensations, which gives them a rotting and sweaty appearance. Ilia seems unfazed. However, I on the other hand am extremely nervous. I now see the apartment building. Its front is about the size of two school buses and its width is about the size of one school bus. Ilia's room is on the first floor and mine is on the second, room five to be exact. We depart with a subtle, "Goodnight," and smile I take the stairs up to the second floor. They squeak with each step, which makes me wonder if it is my weight or the mice inside of the staircase. I reach the top of the staircase walk down the gritty hallway and reach my room, I insert my key into the lock that I keep in my back pocket at all times and twist open the tarnished knob.

However as I do, I cannot help but feel eyes on me, I turn around panicked in the dim hallway. I thought I heard something. I tell myself it was nothing while stepping inside my apartment and quickly lock the door behind me.

Immediately I get ready to sleep and then flop onto my untidy bed to get some good weekend snooze-time.

--

**Author's Note: Okay everyone! I hope you all enjoyed it! Please review and sorry if this chapter was a little boring, but after all it was mainly a character introduction! **

**BTW: The lyrics that were in the story earlier are from the song, "The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning" by Smashing Pumpkins. **


	2. Untraceable

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

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_Beep-Beep-Beep_

Monday.

It's Monday.

"Good Morning self," I grumble tiredly.

My hand slaps over the top of the plastic old alarm clock, scrambling desperately to shut off its screeching. Finally I succeed. I look at the clock; it shouts in my sluggish face, _**5:04 am**_. I do not want to wake up, not at all, but I must. Work starts at about seven and ends… whenever it ends.

Sunday was alright, I basically slept and that was it, I went out shopping and bought a few things, it was a nice little self indulgent excursion.

I roll out of bed, literally and hit the ground.

Hard.

I crawl partially and then stand up to make it to the bathroom to get ready for the day. My eyes feel as if they are swollen shut with lethargy as I walk into the clean bathroom, fumbling to flick on the light.

Bright.

Not good.

I open my eyes in a squinty pathetic way to view myself in the mirror to see the damage that happened over night. My hair looks as if I put it through one-hundred-fifty mile per hour winds.

Beautiful, not.

I slam the flimsy bathroom door to commence getting ready.

A while later I have completed my daily routine of "primping" myself. I still have a little bit of time, about five minutes before Ilia and I leave for work, we are in a carpool together. As I am about to leave, I do a quick examination over my listless room and take in its details. My bed is the main centerpiece. Next to it there is a nightstand which does me the courtesy of holding up my nuisance of an alarm clock, lamp and a television remote which commands my TV sitting directly across from my bed. Its back rests against the wall behind it and because the screen is currently black and off, it gives its fascia that it is sleeping.

I grab my car keys, cell phone and my wallet.

I am not really much of "purse" person.

Exiting the room I insert my apartment key into the lock, twist it so no intruder can break in and put it back into my pocket. I turn and begin to walk down the decaying hallway. The place smells like dog vomit.

Right now I am going to go down to Ilia's apartment. I begin to think about work. We rank as police officers and assigned detectives, which means we are assigned to specials units. At the GPD Ilia and I are part of the Major Crimes Unit which thankfully for us is run mainly by Lieutenant Jim Gordon.

I reach the end of the hallway and begin to walk down the squeaky stairs, I wonder with each step how today is going to play out.

In Gotham, you can never be sure of anything.

Ever.

I reach the first floor, which is not as gritty as the second for whatever reason. I see Ilia's room in sight, apartment number 1. I reach it and rap my skeletal knuckles against it, "Ilia, it's me, Eva, open up." I hear footsteps coming towards the door from within the room. The door opens relatively quickly and there standing in the doorway is Ilia, "Good morning!" she says beaming and I smile back.

"Come on, let's go," I say while turning on my heel towards the door to the outside world.

"So, how was your night?" Ilia asks while buttoning up the front of her dark blue coat.

"Good, yours?"

"It was alright. Another day down at work, are you ready?"

"Yeah, I just can't wait for tonight."

"Oh, you have a date don't ya? Hubba Hubba," Ilia smirks while she watches my cheeks turn a shade of pink.

"So have you seen anyone lately?"

"Um, well wouldn't you know if I had? We live almost the same life," It was true.

"I can't disagree with you there," I reply while continuing to thank god that I had found such a good companion in life. In Gotham you could trust almost nobody, but Ilia is one I know I always can.

As we reach the apartment complexes main door, I propose the idea that we take my car since I had just filled it up the day before, she nods in agreement as we walk towards the parking lot.

Gotham is chilly this morning. It is peaceful though, even though we are right by the Narrows.

We reach my car and get into it, "_Time for work,"_ I think as I plug the keys into the ignition. My beat up vehicle putters and makes spitting resonances as it awakes from its slumber. I pull out of the supermodel thin parking slit and begin to drive off into Gotham's glum daybreak hours, the sun just beginning to creep over the horizon.

I drive with Ilia in the passenger seat deep into Gotham's inner city. The buildings with glass windows reach up towards the heavens, knowing that it is as close as they will get in this city of sin. We drive through busy streets down to the GPD headquarters, Major Crimes Unit to be exact, ready to continue the war for the salvation of Gotham's soul. Only about a two more minutes of drive time left until we reach our destination.

I scan the streets, any sign for disruption, menace, a threat, but I perceive nothing but civilians going about their daily routine.

Pulling into one of the parking spaces, I shut off the car engine with a frightening amount of speed and then both Ilia and I climb back out of the car, slamming our doors in unison behind us. Looking around the parking lot I see a handful of cars, most of which I recognize, one of which is Gordon's. Good he's here; I have to talk to him about my finished paperwork on a drug pusher. Ilia and I walk up the elderly steps to legendary Gotham Police Department. Nothing has been said between us since we had gotten in the car about fifteen minutes ago; this happens a lot with Ilia and me. However it is not because we are frustrated with each other but that we are lost in our own train of thoughts.

I break this silence.

"Ilia, do you mind coming with me to go see Gordon? I finished all the paperwork on that drug pusher I was supposed to and I need to be assigned to a new investigation."

"I can't, I've gotta go play catch up on some stuff," she sighs, her morning burst of energy has vanished.

"You never did tell me what investigation you were working on, which one is it?" I ask curious.

"Some punk who thought it would be a good idea to kill his sister. Apparently she was a sweet girl too, he just snapped and well, you get the point," Ilia sighed while shaking her head.

"Oh, that's um, that's a little scary," I reply, not really knowing how to react to that one.

"Yeah but he's in Arkham now."

"Oh," I reply again still in shock, not really knowing what to say, "Well, I'll see you around; I've got to go talk to Gordon."

I walk for a little while around the GPD until I find the right hallway housing Gordon's office. I see his office towards the end of the hall; I reach it within a few moments of walking and knock on his door.

"Yes, come in," I hear Gordon's already frazzled sounding voice on the opposing side of the door. I do as he says and enter his office. I see Gordon sitting at his oak desk staring at me with his clean kept brown hair, furry mustache and glasses. He sits alone at his old oak desk that looked as if it had seen better days with papers and files scattered all across it. He already looks distraught and it is only seven something in the morning.

"Good morning Lieutenant," I say pleasantly, smiling a genuine smile.

"Good morning Officer Duren, what can I do for you?" He says returning the smile and motioning for me to sit at a shabby chair that is facing his. I accept his kind gesture and fold my thin knobby fingers in my small lap.

"Well, I wanted to inform you that I had finished all the paperwork you had requested and I was wondering if you could assign me to a new case. Since I am an assigned detective and officer, you can assign me to any major crime unit you'd like, preferably, one a Mob case," I say over hinting on what I'd like. Gordon just smiles at me through his bushy mustache and exhales a small chuckle.

"I know what rank you are, Eva, and I've been thinking of cases for you to investigate," He pauses and looks at me with a sideways glance through his lenses, "And I've come up with one for you, I want you to take this guy, he robbed a few banks, and so far we have nothing on him, no name, no finger prints, nothing. His committed to several homicides and from photo evidences from his most recent bank robbery he wears, makeup. Any 911 calls or wind of him I want you there with all the other units. I want you to find out as much as you can and report back to me at the end of the day around six, is that clear?" He questions clearly concerned about this man in face paint.

"Yes sir," I respond, slightly bummed that I did not get a Mob case. However this could be interesting.

"Alright, thanks and I want you to not get into a pursuit vehicle today, unless you get a call and I need you there, I want you to investigate. All you need to know is in that folder. Good luck," he slides a yellow portfolio file towards me across his cluttered desk. I nod and thank him as I depart to go to my office.

When I get into my room and settle in for a long day of research, I open the file and I am shocked with what I see. There, in the folder, is a photograph of this mysterious criminal. His face is disfigured in the mouth region; he has a horribly scarred Glasgow smile that he paints over with crimson greasepaint. His eyes look like two black coals, exaggerated by the black paint he wears in rings around his dark eyes, smoldering and harboring menace. His face is painted that of white, but it has a crinkled worn and melted look. His hair is that of a light brownish-blonde that has a ghostly greenish tinge; it is medium length for a male and is unkempt, greasy and stringy. If I had to guess he stands about 6 foot 2 inches and from the photograph I know he wears a purple business suit. This man is no ordinary criminal, he is terrifying looking. Even just the photograph of him makes the hairs on my neck stand up and to know this man is lurking in the shadows of Gotham somewhere is even more mortifying.

Throughout the day time passes as I research an untraceable man, I keep hearing a cheesy saying playing over and over in my tired brain, "_Slowly but surely I'm going insane_." I have found absolutely nothing on him, with every archive file I click on with my tired finger it comes up as _**NOT FOUND**_. I find myself become irritable as I think about it, until I hear a knock on my office door and say soullessly, "Come on in."

I watch the doorknob twist open and reveal a figure.

It belongs to Lucas Marks.

"Hey Lucas," I greet trying to be a bit more pleasant than I was before. I lean back in my chair as he slightly strides in, the light catching his angelic face perfectly.

"Hey, how's your day going?" he questions as he leans against the doorway, arms crossed, giving him a laid back persona.

"Ugh, tedious, Gordon's assigned me to some nut that calls himself the Joker," I hold up a hand and make a zero with my fist, "and that's all I have found on this guy," I say exasperated.

"Hm, yeah, that's all I've heard about him too, but I knew that because at every crime he commits he leaves a Joker card behind, so do the math." I let out a soft chuckle at this comment.

"So, why I'm really here is to ask you where you do want to go tonight?"

"Surprise me," flirtatiously I say this back and this causes a grin to spread across his face.

"Will do, can I have your address? I'll be by to pick you up at eight."

I nod.

On a slip of paper I pull out from my desk I write it down: _Gotham's Finest Apartments No. 5, Downam Dr., Gotham, NJ._

I hand him the slip, as I do though I cannot help but laugh internally at the name of my apartment development, the word _finest_ just does me in.

He smiles, thanks me and tells me that he will see me at eight.

I cannot wait.

_Knock-Knock_.

I find myself outside Gordon's office, here to give him what I discovered on The Joker.

Which is, well, nothing.

He answers his door, "Hi, Lieutenant, I'm really sorry but I couldn't find anything." I say this with a little bit of shame in my voice, I am embarrassed to admit that I spend almost twelve hours and found nothing. Gordon looks at me with pity in his eyes that are veiled away behind his bifocals, he exhales and his bottom teeth are visible when he does so, "Hm, I sort of figured, I'll keep you posted, we're not too busy around here so you can go ahead and go home. Just leave your phone on incase we've got to reach you."

"Thanks."

"You're Welcome."

I turn to go and find Ilia.

I suspect she will be in her office so I begin to head in that direction, I meander through the maze that is the GPD. It is clean, the occasional crumpled up ball of paper on the floor throughout the office section. However Ilia's office is located past Central Holding, which is where we keep all the arrested criminals. It is an eerie sight, seeing someone that has perhaps murdered, stolen or maybe even raped another human begin, stare back at you through bars. Their eyes often tell a story, one just has to know how to look for it. I don't like to look for that story too long, because sometimes, the stories can be lies. As I walk pass central holding I see about five people behind the bars, a majority of them men, however there is one woman. She looks broken beyond repair. Her hair hangs lifelessly over her pale and permanently sad looking face. She looks as if she is in her mid-forties and she is deathly thin. Her eyes are sunk back into her battered face. She is listless, emotionless; she looks as if her very soul has been sucked out of her. I then wonder what her name must be, what her story is. She looks up at me as if on cue. Her eyes, despite the fact have dark rings under them, are beautiful.

Like sparkling emeralds.

I then think I know her story.

She was a beautiful young woman, who was not given any love or attention and resorted to drugs and alcohol as an escape. Perhaps one night, she couldn't take it. Perhaps one night she couldn't stand it and maybe even stopped to look at what she had become, but no, she grabbed a gun and shot her lover that would never be.

The mysterious woman then breaks the gaze, looking back into her own oblivion. I continue my walk to Ilia's office as I wonder what it must be like to be the one on the inside of those bars.

--

**A/N: Thanks again everyone for reading. Sorry if that chapter was slow again, but these first few chapters I am trying to create a firm foundation for my characters. As the story progress, I can promise you that so will the pace, so stick with me. Also please review, I enjoy constructive criticism! **


	3. Phone Calls

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

--

I gaze into the mirror, taking in my reflection with my caramel brown eyes. They reflect something that I have not seen in a while, genuine giddiness. I look at my hair, which I have curled into brunette ringlets accented by my long brown side bangs. My makeup is subtle, which include black mascara and matching eyeliner. As I give myself a small mental pat of approve there is a familiar ringing sound.

My cell phone.

I find it on my nightstand ringing and vibrating, giving it a look as if it dancing as I reach out to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Officer Duren, this is Lieutenant Gordon. I am calling to inform you that there has been an abduction by who we believe involves the man who calls himself the Joker. This event happened just under an hour ago, or so our eyewitness states. The abduction took place outside of a bar, it is said that a young woman was taken by men disguised in clown masks," he pauses and murmurs something to someone in the background on the other side of the phone. "Sorry about that," he then continues, "They were driving a white van with tinted windows; we still do not have the name of this woman or any other information besides what I have already relayed to you. I don't need you down at the scene right now, but I am going to need you if anything else comes up. I wanted you to be informed."

"Thank you for your time to make that call Lieutenant," I respond.

"You're welcome, I'll keep you posted."

With that, the phone call is over. I am in an "out of body" state. I imagine the fear that is pulsating through that blonde woman's veins in the situation that she is in right now.

That is, if she is still alive.

Then I remember that photograph.

That god awful photograph of the mysterious criminal who's alias is the Joker.

His dark eyes, merciless, un-empathetic and unforgiving.

His lips curved into that forever scarred smile painted red.

I am then sidetracked from my train of thought when I hear a knock at the door.

Lucas Marks.

I grab my wallet, key and cell phone in case anyone needs to reach me, especially Gordon.

Time to go.

"Good evening madam," he says while outstretching a firm but yet gentle looking hand, I take it as he bows cheerily. He is so quirky, it's cute. I turn a shade of pink as I return the cheesy behavior, "Good evening."

While taking me gently by the hand, he escorts me out into the apartment complex's parking lot and then I see it.

An Audi Rs4.

Its jet black sparkling paint job stands out luxuriously in the putrefying lot. Lucas guides me towards it and I am baffled by how he could afford such a fine-looking vehicle.

"How did you afford that?" I say eyeing the beautiful car, taking in its shape and size.

"I been saving for a long time and I finally could buy it," Lucas says, unlacing his hand from mine to clap them goofily together in satisfaction of time spent of earning money for this car.

"Wow, it's really nice." I add, sort of awestruck that a beginning detective's salary could eventually afford a car like the one currently placed in front of my small self. I feel Lucas's warm hand re-envelope around mine as he gently tugs me over to the glistening front passenger door. He opens it fluently, and delicately retracts his hand from mine to place it on the small of my back, softly urging me to get into the car. "Watch your step," he says in his low creamy voice. I nod as I duck carefully into his precious car and sit down on the plushy leather seat. I watch him with dreaming eyes that he cannot see as he walks around in front of the car to board the driver's seat. Opening the door with his angelic demeanor he slips into the driver's seat, closing the heavy door. He places his strong hands onto the thin steering wheel, ready to start up the engine.

"So where are we going?" I question with curiosity.

"Now that, is a surprise," He replies while pushing the golden key into the hole and revs the engine, suggesting he is feeling daring this evening.

"Please tell me," I beg kindly as we depart to venture into Gotham's hours of darkness for our rendezvous.

"Hey, I'm just following orders," He says shrugging his shoulders in a laid back manor. I am about to retort with a questioning of what "orders"? Then I remember the conversation he and I had in my office earlier today.

"_Surprise me,"_ I recall saying.

"_Will do."_

"Well, I take back those orders," bringing my mind back into the present, I utter these words trying to sound a bit stronger then I just did while begging pathetically for him to enlighten me.

"Do you now?" He says smiling smugly as he continues to face to the fore while driving.

"Yeah, I do," I say trying to worm out of him where our final destination will reside.

"Hm, well, I don't follow retracted orders."

"Fine, I surrender," I say giving up lightheartedly.

"I knew you would."

"Hey!" I elbow him lightly on the side, careful I am when I do this, for he is driving.

I watch him smirk subtly at my childish reaction as he drives, or waits, in Gotham's traffic.

Stop-GO.

Stop-GO.

This is the current pattern of our driving until we pull off onto a different more smooth trafficked road.

"I want you to close your eyes for me," He says with a hit of mischief flowing through his voice.

"Okay."

My eyes are closed, anticipating where he is taking me. I feel the car turn a few times and it then comes to a stop.

"Okay open."

I can see it through the windshield.

_Bernie's Burgers_.

I burst out laughing.

"What?!" Lucas questions defensively.

"Nothing, never mind, it looks nice."

Of all the places to choose for a first date…

"Come on, give it a chance," he says while climbing out of the car. He comes over to the other side to usher me out. When he does, he closes my door and locks his car. We walk into the burger joint.

_Bernie's Burgers_ is one of those classic places that everyone and their brother in a big city knows about, says is delicious but is really run down. I guess one could say that it is a food staple in Gotham.

As we enter, the stench of burning fat and oils curls up and in my nostrils and makes me want to hurl. Lucas is smiling, he looks so content. When we reach the ordering counter, the man operating it ask Lucas what we would like.

Lucas turns to me and asks softly.

"What do you want?"

"Um I'll just have a cheeseburger and water, thank you," I give Lucas a pliable grin.

"I have the same as her," he says re-lacing his hand with mine for a temporary moment, and then unlaces. The man nods and fulfills our order while Lucas pays. When we receive our food we go and take a seat at one of the many old wooden booths that are dappled throughout the aged restaurant.

"Is this, I mean like, okay?" Lucas asks me while we begin to eat.

"What do you mean?" I query.

"Is it okay that I brought you here, for you know," he rocks his head on his shoulders as if to imply, _'okay for our first date'._

"Yes of course! I like it, I think it's cute!"

"Yeah, I used to come here a lot when I was a kid. My dad was usually busy working and my, um, mom wasn't, well, I didn't really have much of a mom. This place was cheap and I could afford it so I'd come here."

"I'm sorry Lucas," I felt pity for him and gave him a sad smile.

"It's fine, that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger right?" I can tell he is trying to brighten his little pity party by saying this.

"Exactly, so if you don't mind me asking, what made you want to be a detective?"

"Well," he starts, "When I was growing up, I was around a lot of bad people, criminals, you know, and I just wanted to be the opposite, I wanted to fight that."

"That's good Lucas, that's good," I am proud to be on a date with a good man. Usually people who grow up around crime end up eventually joining it in Gotham.

"Thank you. So, what made you want to be an officer?" He asks tilting his head slightly to the side inquisitively.

"Well I-" I am in amidst of what I am about to say and then my phone rings. Pulling it out I recognize the number.

Ilia.

I hold a single index finger up to say to Lucas without words, 'hold on'. Ilia would never call me now; she knows that I am on a date, so I figure it must be important.

I answer.

"Hey Ilia, what is it?" I ask trying to remind myself it must be important.

"Hey, um, I know that this is, well I know you're on your date and all and I am really sorry for calling-" she is stammering, she sounds nervous. I wonder what kind of dilemma she has gotten herself into.

"Ilia, it's fine, what is it?"

"Well, I kinda need your help, I need you to come home, meet me at the apartments like ASAP, I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, I'll be there as soon as I can," I hang up.

"Lucas, I'm sorry but I've got to get back home, Ilia needs me," I say while giving him an apologetic look, he responds.

"Ah, it's okay, we'll just plane for another night, come on," He says with a slightly disappointed smile, nevertheless, it is still a wickedly handsome smile. He takes both our unfinished meals and disposes of them in a trashcan on our way out. He tenderly takes my hand once again and ushers me into the Audi.

The cabin of the car is filled with breaths of awkward air during the drive back to my apartment complex.

The sun has set fully.

When we reach the apartments Lucas looks at me before saying goodbye.

"I had a good time, with you Eva," he says not looking directly into my eyes.

This is such a cliché moment.

"Me too Lucas."

"Maybe we could, do it again sometime?" he asks awkwardly while scratching the back of his head.

"Maybe," I smile, clearly implying I definitely would with my tone of voice, "Goodnight," I conclude as I exit his car.

"Goodnight," he says sounding filled with a warm glow of happiness that our date, well half-date went well.

Within a few minutes time I find myself at Ilia's apartment door knocking.

No answer.

I take out my phone and dial in her digits.

"Hello?" she answers.

"Hey, where are you? I'm outside your door."

"Oh, sorry I'm, uh, out in the parking lot."

"Alright, I'll see you there in a minute," I hang up and place the phone back into my pocket.

I exit the building, alert on high, in case any wacko is hiding in the shadows. I whip around, paranoid that I had heard something, however nothing is there.

My heart is racing as I walk as quietly and as quickly as possible outside.

Thankfully, I see Ilia in the orange tinged half-lit parking lot.

"_Jesus, Ilia what did you get yourself into now?"_ I think edgily.

She is over-looking a very nice, very expensive Suzuki Motorcycle. Its paintjob is that of a deep blue and silver.

"Ilia," I say trying to gulp down some irritation from my voice, "Whose is that?"

"Mine."

"Yours?" I say a bit taken back.

"Yeah, it was really expensive, I didn't want to tell you I'd bought it, thought you'd be mad," she says not eyeing me, looking downward.

"Mad? Why would I care what you do with your money? You called me off, so you could show me a bike?"

"No." She's beading around the bush, and this is frustrating me.

"Okay, well then why'd you call?"

"I need help," Ilia semi-chokes out and is also now looking at me directly in the eyes. Her pale blue orbs are filmed over with stress.

"With what?"

"Okay, so, tonight, after I finished buying the bike, I went to take a shower, and," she pauses looking away, and I motion my hand and raise my brows for her to continue, "Well, as I went to turn the water on, it just busted."

"What do you mean it just busted?" I inquire rather irritated sill.

"It flooded my apartment and now I don't have a place to stay and I was wondering, if I could move in with you, it will only be temporarily though," she pleads, but for whatever reason I am tempted to ask her why she can just rent out another room, I query this as well.

"Why can't you just rent another room?"

"I can't afford it," I know why she cannot but I just press for more.

"Then tomorrow you can go and return that," I point firmly at the motorcycle gleaming in all its innocence. It is almost like a child listening to two parents in the midst of an argument, it doesn't say anything, it does not do anything, andit is just irritating because it is there.

"I can't, it was a final sale. Please, I know this is like a lot to ask but I really don't want to play 'hobo' tonight."

I cannot help but chuckle at that last joke. Even when Ilia is distraught she still manages to make me laugh.

"Alright, fine," I am feeling empathetic for her. She thanks me for my hospitality. Even though she made a foolish choice, I, as her friend, have to look out for her.

"But, what are you going to do with it?" I ask, curious, pointing at the bike.

"Oh, uh, the bike? Ride it to work and stuff, I dunno, I've just always wanted a motorcycle."

"Oh," I say smiling as I think to myself. Ilia never, I mean never has a plan, she just goes with the flow. If one was to ask her where she thinks she would be in ten years, she would tell you, if one were to ask her where she thinks she would be in ten days, she would probably laugh and say, I dunno.

"Hey, not to be pushy but can we go to bed? I've got all my stuff in my car since I had like nowhere else to put it. I have a sleeping bag and everything so I'll be alright. Is it okay if I bring it in your room?"

"Yep."

"Thanks again Eva."

"Sure thing," I say smiling as I walk to her car alongside her.

If I had to take a gander on the time, I would guess that it would be around nine fifteen at night.

And that is when my phone begins to ring.

I take it out and look at the number on the outer screen.

_Oh God._

It's Gordon.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hi Officer Duren, this is Lieutenant Gordon," his voice sounds stressed, "We have found the victim who was kidnapped earlier this evening. We found her in a warehouse alongside the Gotham docks, we were surprised to find that it was nothing physically is too serious, she is in no need of medical attention, physically. The description she gives of her torturer comfirms our assumptions from earlier. I am going to need you down in Central Holding as soon as you can get here. She says she knows you and I want you to speak with her, maybe try and calm her down, she's hysterical."

"Alright Lieutenant I'll be down there as soon as I can," hanging up, I turn to Ilia.

"Ilia, that was Gordon, he told me that they have found the victim from my investigation, she's still alive. I've got to go down to the GPD because Gordon wants me to talk to her. Here is the key," I throw it at Ilia, "to the apartment, I have no idea when I'll be back so if you need to reach me," I pat my pocket which houses my coveted phone as I race towards my car. I feel like acid is pumping through my veins. When Gordon had basically told me that she was in pretty good shape as far as her _physical_ state, well, I don't like the sound of that.

--

**A/N: I hope you all liked chapter three, and again I apologize if it was very tedious but I can promise that the whole store won't be like that, just the first few chapters. I hope for you readers that this feels like it is actually going somewhere. Please review; it really makes my day when I receive them!**


	4. Scarlett Williams

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

--

A lead foot would be the perfect description of me flooring it to the GPD tonight. All I can think about is what that creep called the Joker must have done to that woman. I just can't get Gordon's voice out of my head.

"_She is in no need of medical attention, physically."_

I pull into the Police department's parking lot and frantically turn off the engine with a twist of my wrist, pulling the key out of the hole. However something catches my eye in the mottled rearview mirror.

_Oh God_.

Reporters.

There is a huge horde of them, migrating over to my car, they are probably here to find out more information on the Joker kidnapping. I quickly climb out my trashy automobile and try to make my way through the babbling crowd. They fire questions at me.

"Officer Duren," I tune it out and make way for the GPD main building. The media follows me like a cluster of lost ducklings, crying out for their mother.

Except with news cameras.

I meander my way up the steps of Gotham's Police Department with the reporters at my heels; however they even know the boundaries.

No reporter is allowed inside.

I reach the main door and swing it open; it closes quite rapidly behind me. The ruckus of babbling reporters is now becoming even more and more faint as I make my way down to Central Holding. When I walk through the GPD, I find it somewhat deserted. Papers from the desks of miscellaneous detectives and other workers are scattered throughout, giving it an apocalyptic look. I suspect that they all rushed it out of here when they went to retrieve the kidnapped woman.

Soon enough I find myself at the entrance of Central Holding, I see the criminals, I see the guards, but I do not see Gordon. I look around, semi-frustrated. I waltz up lazily to an officer. His back is turned to me as he chats with one of his collogues. Gently I tap him on the shoulder.

"Hey, can you tell me where Lieutenant Gordon is?"

"Oh, yeah, they are down in the Interrogation Holding," He says pointing in past me to the destination he informs me of.

I nod and turn on my heel.

I walk past the cages that house the criminals in central holding and make my way to where the slothful officer had told me to go. As I enter the Interrogation place, I note to myself that it feels like a dungeon. It smells of wet cement and coffee. The lighting is dim and ominous, like a dying, but not flickering, fluorescent bulb. I see a handful of people that I recognize, two of which are very prominent.

Commissioner Loeb and Gordon.

I approach them respectively as they eye the glass mirrored window to the Interrogation cell as if they are watching some sort of exotic animal.

"Good Evening Commissioner and Lieutenant," I greet, projecting my voice, I can hear it reverberating around the aural room.

They turn to face me.

"Ah, Officer Duren, nice of you to show. That goddamn freak did something to our victim here, Scarlett Williams, she's frantic," Loeb informs me while pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the interrogation cell, "All we know is that she wants to talk to you, that poor train wreck has been babbling about how she knows you. She won't tell us anything, all she wants is you. So, go in there and try to calm her down, try to get some information on what happened to her."

I obey.

I am just about to make my way over to the steeled enforced door that leads into the cell when Gordon gently reaches out a hand to touch me on the shoulder.

"Eva, be careful what you say in there, she's," he pauses and lets out a sigh of defeat, "She's gone, the Joker, whatever he did, he destroyed her. We'll be monitoring from out here the whole time. Good luck."

I take Gordon's warning as I pass by the two way mirror. In the room is a woman, maybe late twenties, with long blonde hair that reaches to her hips. She sits hunched over in one of the metal chairs with her hands shaking uncontrollably. Her face is shrouded away behind her gleaming golden mane. In her hands she holds a cup of what I think is tea, however, due to her shaking she is spilling it slightly on the dusty metal table top. I see a spare chair that is set up across from hers that is empty, set there for me to sit.

I reach the heavy duty door and give it a good yank.

Locked.

"Unlock it please?" I request and soon enough there is a loud buzz.

I yank the door open.

The woman named Scarlett still has her head bowed; I watch her hands twitter in place as they try their best not to spill the beverage. Something about this woman is very familiar, I cannot however place an assumption on whether I know her or not, she is shielding her face away with her convex head.

"Hey," I speak as softly as possibly, trying my best to sound friendly, "My name is Officer Duren, I'm here to help you, I was told you wanted to speak with me."

She looks up, light reflecting of the fresh fear in her frozen eyes.

Then I remember that face.

Scarlett was a girl who went to my elementary school; she was a wonderfully nice and selfless. We were decent friends until we went to different middle schools. However, I could not forget a face so distinct and virtuous like Scarlet's.

"Eva, please, help me, I just, I don't, I," she can't even finish saying her sentence. I watch as a tear trickles down her pale cheek as she squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head rapidly for a moment as if demonstrating she is being torn apart inside. Scarlett then looks at me once more as I move across the isolated room to take the seat across from her. I scan the room with my eyes. It is dirty; the tiles which make up the walls and flooring are covered with grime and filth. This room just _feels_ grimy.

"It's okay, I'm here to help you, but first I'm going to have to have you tell me what happened."

"I can't, I can't…" she says these words slowly, lowers her head to the right side and closes her eyes.

"It's okay, you're safe now, I'm here with you, and no one's going to hurt you, just tell me what happened. Where did they take you?" I ask reaching out to take the cup from her hand for she is spilling the beverage across the table top. I move it off to the side as begins a vigorous routine of crying hiccups.

"I really don't, I can't…" she chokes out amongst her sobs.

"It's okay, I'm here," I replace the cup that she was once holding with one of my hands, she squeezes it, I then squeeze back reassuringly.

"I," Scarlett re-opens her eyes, "I was leaving some bar, I don't remem-mem," she stops, still trembling and inhales deeply multiple times due to her hiccupped cries, "I don't remember the name, but I was walking out and then I saw these men, in clo-clown," she pauses once again shaking her head, sniffling.

"It's okay, you're safe now," I smile gently, squeezing her hand to let her know that I'm still here.

"I saw these men in, clown masks, I d-don't really remember what happened except, they grabbed me and shoved me into a van, a white van I think, they tied my arms around my back, gagged me and blindfolded me. They drove for about fifteen minutes and I heard them say something about a-about," she pauses and blinks a few times, letting several sparking tears trail down her chalky cheeks, "About you."

I pause, trying to hide my paranoia.

_Shit._ I think to myself; however I decide not to press her with self-important questions at the moment, so I let her continue on.

"I then heard them talking about some bank that they had robbed and the J-Joker," I feel her hands try to control themselves as they tremble more erratically. "I'm sorry," Scarlett chokes.

"It's okay," I say.

"I don't know, that's all they said before I felt the car stop. T-Then some guy said he 'Felt that all this kidnapping was bullshit and that the Joker should get up off his ass and do it himself'. Then another man said, 'I think you 'oughtta watch your mouth, you never can tell who is _really _listening,' I heard a gunshot…."

I watch Scarlett commence to re-lose her control as she burst out sobbing, however as she does she is yelling words through her sobs.

"I felt the blind fold being ripped off my eyes and there was the man wearing the clown mask that I recognized. I recognized him b-because of his voice, he was the one who I s-soon figured out shot the other complaining man. He was sitting on my legs so I couldn't kick him, I spat at his m-mask just to try and piss him off, I don't know, I didn't know what to do, I was trying to get him away from me. I was hysterical, you know? None of the other masked men were saying anything to challenge him, especially the one who laid lifeless in the front seat. I was yelling and trying to kick at him, but he just grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out of the van and took me into some warehouse. He tide me to a chair and took off his mask… I just… Please!? Why are you making me talk about this!?" She is screaming at me now, and I begin to realize the situation, "Don't you get it!?" Scarlett screeches and backhands me across the face from across the table.

She is losing it and I am about to pay for it.

I bite back words of flaming rage as the pain from Scarlett's slap is now simmering throughout my facial flesh, I know I have to remain calm.

I am in control.

Aren't I?

"You stupid bitch, he is just going to rip you to shreds, or maybe just your pretty _little_ face with his pretty _little_ knife!"

I am backhanded again.

_Shit._

Scarlett is no longer crying, but screaming at me through puffy red eyes and clenched teeth, I watch her veins pulse throughout her famished looking neck and I watch her hands ball into tight blanched fists.

A frenzy is going to ensue in t-minus 10 seconds if I do not get out of here.

As if on cue, I hear Gordon's raspy voice come in over the intercom that is inside the interrogation room, "Eva, I want you out of there."

Following his orders I rise from my seat and walk towards the maximum security door.

"Where do you think you are going?"

I don't respond.

I disengage.

"Answer me, come on Eva, answer me," Scarlett's demeanor changes completely, she is now speaking calmly.

Again, I don't respond.

I reach the steel door.

"_Eva_," She says my name teasingly, like a small child.

"Open please," I request with my hand already placed on the steel rod of a door handle.

"_Oh, Eva_," When I hear Scarlett say this again, it does not sound normal, it is sending shivers down my spine.

Her voice is like icy knives.

I do not turn around.

The door buzzes, the signal that it is unlocked, I exit the room.

Gordon is at the nearby the entrance waiting for me.

"You did a good job in there," Gordon says patting me on the shoulder.

I nod.

"Thank you."

"How's your-?" he points at the side of my face that is now swelling from Scarlett's backhands. My hand subconsciously flies to my cheeks to assess the damage, it hurts to touch.

"It's okay," I lie, not wanting to draw attention.

"Go home Eva, get some rest, I'm going to need you tomorrow. I'm glad that you're such a dedicated officer; you were here tonight as soon as I called. I appreciate your efforts tonight, Good night Eva."

"Thank you Lieutenant, Good night," Smiling politely through my pained face, I turn to leave.

While I am walking out of Interrogation Holding, I glance back at the Interrogation cell.

Through the two way mirror, I see Scarlett, however the emotion she displays is not fear or sadness, but ecstasy, a twisted lie of happiness. A wicked grin is spread across her recently quivering lips; she is throwing her head back in a hyena-like manner, belting out soundless laughs. I cannot hear her for it is a soundproof cell with the exception of the microphone that is currently shut off. It gives her an appearance as if she is a ghost, voiceless but yet still expresses emotion, dead but still alive. Perhaphs that is what Scarlett Williams will forever be after tonight, dead but still alive.

--

**A/N: Wow, sorry I didn't update as quickly as I usually do. I hope you all found chapter four an okay read. Please review! They are the highlight of my day when I receive them. Thank you all again who have reviewed. Also, like I said before: CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS GREAT!**


	5. The Playing Card

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

--

My shoes clack loudly through the desolate parking lot as I walk to my car.

The reporters are gone and the only sound is that of the automobiles rolling down the crowded streets of Gotham. Due to the humid air, it leaves everything feeling sticky including the pebbly streets. I listen to the wheels of the vehicles snarling over them as I make my way to my own car. The night air is thick with that familiar sweaty-like feel.

I eye the sky.

Fog is rolling in.

Gloomy.

As usual.

I reach my banged up car and unlock it with the fob. It eagerly chirps at me as I open its heavy door.

I sit down in the seat, close the door, lock myself within the car and prepare to start the engine; however, something catches my tired eye. It shines into the night, bright clear; it is coming from atop the GPD's main building. I watch it glimmer into the sinful city's night sky, in the shape of a symbol all of us cops and criminals alike have grown to fear and respect.

A bat.

Shining.

Protecting.

Ever watching.

I admire it from afar for several moments, whoever the Batman is, I secretly thank him every conscious minute of the night. Right now, Gordon it probably standing atop that building, waiting to meet with the guardian of Gotham. I put my arm down that was poised for several moments, ready to insert the key to the car and start its engine. Now, all of a sudden a wave of emotion washes over me, soaking my mind with it.

Curiosity.

I want to know what Gordon and the Batman are planning.

Like an adolescent without impulse control I climb back out of the car and make my way up to the roof of the GPD building.

When I reach it to the rooftop, I see Gordon standing next to the modified spotlight, the bat-signal. Gordon is alone, waiting for Batman to hopefully come. Sometimes, the Batman does not show, but Gordon will just stand out here for hours on end, unless he has too much work, just to meet with his ally.

I watch Gordon for a couple moments taking everything in about where I am right now, how lucky I am to be alive during these times. It is almost poetic, unrealistic, and beautiful that Gotham is just so damaged by the criminals that wreak havoc on it, that we need a guardian just as ferocious to save us.

Sometimes, fighting with all the light against the dark, you need to resurrect some shadows from the other side in order to watch the sun rise once more.

I watch Gordon's glasses reflect the light that radiates into the night sky; he is looking up, hopeful at the everlasting symbol.

I approach him.

He doesn't see me yet.

"Hi Lieutenant," I greet.

His attention if turned to me and off of the sky.

He sighs smiling, looking down.

"Hello officer Duren."

"Hi, I um, just saw the light and I just wanted to..." he looks up silencing me with his smile that half-hides underneath his furry mustache, his hair is tousled in a stressful manner, however his simple smile says something different.

"Officer Duren, you do realize, you were dismissed. Go home," he says semi-chuckling.

"I know, I just…" I look at Gordon, he doesn't break the gaze, "How did you know?"

"Know what?" Gordon says, giving me a quizzical look.

"That, he was our savior?" I say quietly.

"I don't really want to discuss this," Gordon rolls his eyes upward, not in annoyance, but to avoid eye contact and sighs once more.

"Lieutenant, I know, I understand, this is a balance that must not be broken, one that I must not interfere with, I'm sorry," I know I am dancing on thin ice and I do not want him to agitated with my foolish prying.

I know better.

"You're a good cop, Eva, you don't find that too often, here," Gordon says to me, taking a quick glance up at the symbol in the sky before continuing on, "in Gotham. I may have not known you long, but I have been here at the GPD for many years and I know how judge character."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," I say, feeling very humble.

"But some things…" Gordon continues, "In this world, are better left unsaid, as you probably know."

"But what do you think about him?" I ask in a small voice.

"Who?" Gordon states, clearly lying to avoid any conversation on the Batman.

"You know, the Batman," I say.

"All I can tell you is that he is the kind of," Gordon pauses, sighing one of his infamous defeated sounding sighs, "being, that you just need to trust."

"Do you trust him?"

"Yes." He says looking me square in the eye, "Do you?"

I am now dumfounded by his question.

Do I?

Yes.

Yes I do.

"Yes," I mumble.

Gordon eyes me from within his spectacles with a soft grin across his face. The skin on his face is crinkled with age, but he is still a handsome man nevertheless. I stare back into his eyes, however as I am doing so, I notice that his vision wavers and is no longer focused on me, he shuts off the spotlight.

The rooftop is now very dark.

I watch Gordon stare at _something_ behind me.

I turn around.

The Batman is standing maybe no more than four feet away from me. My heart leaps into my tight throat. I did not even hear him approach; he is almost like a spirit.

His cowl is in a permanent fierce scowl with bat-like ears that are like horns atop his head, his eyes dark and firm.

His jaw is firm and strong.

His whole body is encased in a black combat suit, thick, armored and intimidating.

His cloak drapes like a black satin shadow across his broad shoulders that leads upward in a svelte curve to his neck, which is thick like that of a panther.

I back away slowly and turn to Gordon as the Batman's eyes scrutinize my every move. He is like a god, so mysterious, so beautiful and so terrifying.

"Goodnight, Officer Duren," Gordon says to me with a serious face.

I get the message.

"Goodnight Lieutenant," I say to him as I turn to pass the Batman to leave to roof. The Batman eyes me as I walk closely by him. "Goodnight," I say to him, unfortunately as I expected, he says nothing in return, all I can feel is his aura of controlled fury veiled away in the fear he sends shooting through my heart.

I soon find myself pulling up at my apartment complex, tired and very much ready to sleep. Today has been a _long _day. I warily make my way out of my car and as I begin to walk towards the complex, an awful smell swirls up my nose, the smell of garbage coming from the side of the building that my apartment is on.

_Great, so now I am going to have to smell trash all night,_ I think sourly and make my way inside crummy building. As I walk up the annoying steps I find myself listening to the "squeaks" of each step, they are all consecutive with each step, singing an annoying symphony.

_Ugh_.

I listen to them squeal as I reach the final steps when I hear an awkward squeak, one that was not cause my footsteps.

Paranoia leaps into my gut.

That was no mouse that squeaked.

Someone is following me, and I know this because I have not moved. If they were not going to harm me, then they would have already revealed themselves. I immediately feel for my key in my back pocket, when I realize that I had given it to Ilia. Frantic, I do not dare to move, and neither does my stalker. Thinking as quickly as I can I decide to make a break for my room.

I run.

I reach the door and swivel my panicking head back to the staircase.

I see no one.

Yet.

I twist the doorknob and thanks to Ilia's negligence, it is unlocked.

I run inside and lock the door behind myself.

The room is dark, so I suspect that Ilia is slumbering obliviously, however something is not right, the room smells rotten and it is not the colorful smell of the garbage coming from outside.

I reach out for the light switch, to assess the room and to awake Ilia.

Ilia is laying on my bed with one of her arms lazily draped off the side, her head is laying face down on my pillow.

"Ilia get the hell up! Someone was following me! Ilia! Wake up! We've got to get out of here and fast! Come on damn it!" I yell in a hoarse whisper.

She does not respond.

In a desperate attempt, I rush over to her and begin to shake her heavy shoulders. However, as I do this, I notice something that causes more panic to pound from my fearful heart.

Blood, Ilia's blood is everywhere, pluming from her facial area.

My stomach surges with terror as I flip her over.

Ilia's face is carved into a crimson Glasgow smile that is ripped from ear to ear.

She is _dead_.

I slap my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming and tears begin to flow from my horrified eyes.

_THUNK-THUNK_.

The door is rattling.

Someone is trying to break in.

As my heart beats so unsteadily rapid, I scan the room for somewhere to hide.

I see the light switch by the door. I scurry over and struggle to shut off the light that illuminates the room, my fingertips scrape against it as the noise of someone struggling to unlock the feeble door grows louder and louder. It vibrates as the assailant is pounding on it trying to get in.

I shut the light off.

Darkness clouds my room.

I run over to the center of the room, still searching desperately for a place to conceal myself.

And then I see it.

Between my nightstand and bed is a small enough space where I can shimmy into. I slip into the anorexic emaciated hiding place and try my best to calm myself. I glance at my corpse of a best friend, dead and from what I can see in the dark is that her pupils are dilated, her jaw is slack.

Nobody home.

My room smells of feces and urine due to her death. Her bowels and bladder let go in her final moments. Her screams not too long ago ripped her mouth open further as her killer dug the knife into her beautiful cheeks, destroying her in death. The blood that ran down her face had spilled onto my bed as she slipped off into oblivion.

_Murderer._

In her hand I see something that I did not notice before, even in the light, even as I shook her listless body. In her hand that rests on the bed is a playing card smeared with drying blood.

A joker.

As I listen to the person struggling to unlock the door, I hear voices, arguing voices.

"Now, now ,now, who did you say you saw?" I hear a man's voice question through my thin walls.

"I saw some girl, she went in here," the seconded man pleaded.

"Well, if the door _is_ locked, then chances are," his voice lowers, "she's probably in there."

"I'll take care of it boss," a third man's voice says.

"Oh no, _you won't_, you _really _won't," I listen to the first man's voice coo over the "really", which is then followed by a gunshot and a loud thud. I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

"Any, other volunteers? No, hmm?" The first man questions mockingly, I hear no response to his rhetorical question.

I hear someone fumbling with the locked door, and then I hear a _click_, the door opens and time seems to slow.

I watch it open slowly to reveal what I was hoping I wouldn't see. There in the doorway is a man, tall, thin, but yet he has broad shoulders. He wears a dirty purple suit. His face radiates in the dark, white and ghoulish looking. His black painted eyes peer out from a cascade of blondish-green stringy hair; those eyes are searching the darkness.

Searching for me.

His lips stretch out from their corners into lumpy deep scars, painted over by ruby greasepaint, giving him the appearance that he is always sadistically grinning.

The Joker.

_Murderer._

He stands their momentarily, his head is cocked awkwardly, and his posture is tilted more to one side than the other. His hand slips into one of his tattered purple pant pockets and pull something out. He flicks it open and the little light that seeps in through my window (at the far side of my room) slithers over the edge of what I now know is a blade.

Curved and cruel looking.

I dare not move.

He is not moving either.

He is still searching.

"Ah, hello there," he says.

He knows where I am.

_Shit._

I try not to panic and I don't move still.

He approaches my hiding spot.

"Come on, come out," he says beckoning me with his free hand.

I dare not move.

Bad idea.

He leaps for me, grabbing me by my hair and dragging me out, I scream in pain as his strong hand tightens around a fistful of my hair. He slams me up against the wall, still holding onto my locks. He slips his knife directly under my chin, right by the curve of my neck. I struggle, trying to break his hold, but he is too strong. The Joker presses the knife threateningly against my soft throat.

"Hey, hey," he says gruffly as if trying to calm me down, he is so close I can _taste_ his rancid breath, "Hey, why, are you in here?" He says raising his eyebrows and nodding very quickly, as if telling me to answer him.

"I-I live here, please, let me go," I stammer out, on the verge of tears.

"Let you go? Why would I want to let you go?" he says mockingly, tightening his gloved fist throughout my hair.

"Why are you here?" I manage to blurt out.

"I don't think, that _you_ should be the one asking the questions," he says, applying pressure to his knife. I squeal as I feel it dig into my skin slightly.

"Why are _you_ here?" he rebounds the question, his voice going slightly high on the "you". I close my eyes, slightly whimpering and tilt my head away as much as I can, however, he doesn't like that, "Hey, hey, look at me, look at me, shh shh."

"I was coming home," I whisper, trying with every fiber of my being not to lose it as I gaze into his eyes. They flicker over my nervous face.

"From? Hmm?" He probes, shifting his weight from one foot to another. I watch his bottom lip slip inward and his pink tongue slide across the top of it.

"Work," I say, hoping he will let me get away with being vague. My hopes are terminated when he pushes the blade into my throat, threatening to slice my threads of life if I do not tell him what he wants to hear. I begrudgingly say the specifics, "I am an assigned detective at the GPD."

"Ooo-hoo," he giddily says as I tell him this, he wants more though, "And what's your name?"

"Eva Duren," I mutter. With this man, I will not win. He has the weapon, not I, and he will not hesitate to kill me if I hesitate to answer his questions.

"That's," he rolls his eyes loosely around in their sockets impatiently and nods with his head to Ilia's dead body, "Eva Duren," his eyes flicker back to me, his voices drops dangerously low, "Who are you?"

I am very confused. Then it hits me. He must have been trying to kill me, not Ilia, and she died tonight instead of me. He must have thought that she was me when he forced his way in, and forced his blade into her face. Then another thing hits me, I realize that as soon as he finds out that he killed Ilia Rendell and not Eva Duren…

He has got me, pinned between my wall and his body with a knife at my throat. My eyes search the room for some way to escape.

Then I see it.

My opened window, wide enough for me to fit through it, however there is a problem.

I am on the second floor.

My heart is pounding its way up my tight throat as I try to think of some kind of plan as the Joker bores his eyes into me, he licks his red lips, awaiting me to reply to his question.

Then I remember the trash that is lying outside of_ Gotham's Finest Apartments_ tonight. I know that directly below my window sits a forest green waste management dumpster filled with garbage, perhaps enough to cushion my fall if I jump.

I stare at the Joker's cold eyes.

"My name, my real name," I begin to say, "Is one that you are just going to have to figure out some other time."

As hard as I can I knee him in the groin.

He lets out a moan of pain, lets go of my hair and his blade slips away from my neck.

Temporarily, I have the upper hand.

I then hook him in the temple as hard as I can. He staggers back a slightly and I run for the window. My hand throbs from the heavy blow and I cannot help but wonder what his head must feel like. I soon do not wonder anymore as I hear a pained laugh coming closer.

Closer.

Closer.

I reach the window, swing my legs over and push off the outer wall of the apartment complex.

I see the dumpster filled with garbage just as I had suspected below me.

_Thank God._

I am falling.

Falling.

Falling.

--

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while! I have been kind of busy, but I worked hard on this chapter, especially the Joker. He is a very hard character to write, however I hope you all found it alright. Thanks again to all of you who have reviewed. Please review, it helps me as a writer and lets me know what you readers like and don't like. Constructive Criticism is welcome!**


	6. Cheating Death

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

--

My plan goes accordingly.

I land on the putrid garbage. It sprays its muck all over my body due to the force of the impact.

Lucky I am still alive.

For now.

I need to make it to my car in order to escape. I hear the voices of agitated men yelling from inside the apartment complex, gunshots are being fire off within. Wrapping my hands around the outer edges of the dumpster, I am able to get enough leverage with my shaky feet to climb out.

They are coming.

My feet pound across the slimy gravel that is _Gotham's Finest Apartments_ side alley. I run as fast as I can around the dilapidated edifice. My heart races, for each step I knew I could be closer to my salvation and with each step I could be closer to him.

The Joker.

_No, I will not fall victim to that bastard._

I reach the parking lot.

My car is in sight, but I can now here the howls of rage as the men search for me.

I reach my automobile.

They are outside the building now.

_Shit_.

I unlock the car and leap inside.

I start the engine.

The car sputters in defiance and stalls.

"Damn it!" I yell pounding my palms against the steering wheel, and begin to cry in frustration and fear, "Come on!"

The car makes loud popping noises and refuses to starts.

There is no escape.

A sinking feeling dives like the Joker's blade is going to go through my stomach and I cannot bring myself to think about what he is going to do to me when he finds me.

I see them through my window.

His little helpers are wearing clown masks, giving them an emotionless appearance. They frantically turn their masked heads in the direction of my car. The Joker stands in the middle of his horde of four men, eyeing me with a vengeful look etched on his face. He points a purple gloved hand that clutches his awful blade at my car and shouts to his pack of human bloodhounds.

This is the end.

_Say your prayers_.

They know where I am.

They heard the engine try to start pathetically.

My heart is beating so loud, I would not be shocked if they heard that either.

Ilia is dead and soon, I will be joining her. I do not want to die. I feel as if I am going to vomit.

Just when all hope is lost, through my dirty windshield, I see my key to escape. Through the dim lighting I see Ilia's bike. It glimmers innocently, untouched.

The good thing is, is that I know how to ride a motorcycle pretty well, the down side is that I have obviously have not used Ilia's before.

_Fate will be sealed in ten._

I burst out the car and pump my legs on the unforgiving ground as I rush to the bike.

_Nine._

As I assumed, the keys are still in the ignition. As much as Ilia had loved her new bike, she had left the keys in the ignition, in the heart of Gotham, at night. Ilia, even in death, never ceases to amuse me.

_Eight._

The shouts of the men are growing louder and louder. The Joker is at the back of his pack, barking orders into the night.

_Seven._

I straddle the bike, and rev the powerful engine.

_Six._

It sings underneath me.

_Five._

"Where are you going, beautiful?" the Joker's voice carries throughout the vacant lot, "We've only just gotten started," he throws his plum sleeved arms upward, faking enthusiasm through gritted teeth.

_Four._

A gunshot rings out across the lot, and the bullet slices through my fleshy side between my hip bone and ribs. It rips through easily due to my thinness. My head turns rapidly to catch a glimpse of who it was that shot me. It was the Joker, who is now holding a handgun in his other powerful hand. He has a sardonic smile that creeps eerily across his sweaty, scarred face.

_Three._

Screams of pain tear loose from my lips as I feel blood spurt from the wound. I lean into the bike pathetically for support.

_Two._

I can't give in, not now, not here.

_One._

The tires on the bike burn as I tear out of the parking lot into the night. Pain is pulsating through my side.

"Come on, come on, come on, let's _move_," I hear the Joker say to his goons. Through the review mirror, I can see the Joker and his masked men scrambling into a van, a white van.

They are coming after me.

_Your fate is… Unknown._

I plow through the empty streets to try and reach a populated one. The white van is on my tail, however I gain some distance because the bike accelerates faster than their van. I make a few right turns and a left turn onto _Amdis Avenue._ This street is almost always busy, twenty-four-seven.

Cars blare their horns at me as I swerve jackrabbit style in and out of the congested street. And that is when the bullets begin to rip throughout the night air.

In the review mirror, I can see the Joker leaning out of the passenger seat window with a new gun, pooping off rounds at me as I zigzag in and out of the automobiles on _Amdis Avenue_. I cringe as I hear his bullets hit other cars, not knowing if the person inside is alive or not. The look on his painted face is that of anguish as he struggles to get a direct hit, his greasy hair flails in the wind.

My side aches in reminder of what he is capable of with a gun and the back of my head still throbs from his powerful grip he had on me earlier.

I can feel my own hot sticky blood combining my very flesh to my shirt.

My breathing is progressively becoming heavy and I cannot tell if it is due to my fear or the blood seeping away from my body.

The white van grows smaller and smaller in the review mirror. I see an upcoming left hand turn off of _Amdis Avenue_ leading to _Eller Avenue_.

I decide to take it in my effort to shake off the Joker.

The engine hums gleefully as I speed down the street, which thankfully has a lot less cars than _Amdis Avenue._ Maybe I can gain some distance. The white van appears in the review mirror again, speeding after me. The Joker's head is propped out of the window glaring at his target.

Me.

My heart leaps into my chest.

The thoughts that are tumbling in my head about all possible escape routes are stressing me out mentally as the wound in my side begins to take its toll on me physically.

Time is running out.

_Shit._

The van is coming closer.

I accelerate and speed off into the direction that I know I might regret, but may very well save my life.

The Narrows.

Bullets are flying past me, missing my body. I inhale deeply as they miss me by sheer inches, and as I do this, the sharp pain due to my bullet wound surges throughout my body.

_Am I dying?_

_Shit._

_No, I don't care if my body says I am, I am not._

Through the entire ruckus that reverberates through the street lined by towering buildings, I can hear the Joker howling inhumanly out of rage into Gotham's night as his bullets zoom past me.

Missing me by sheer centimeters.

He sends a chill down my bloody spine.

I see the decaying bridges to the Narrows.

My salvation.

I cross the bridge with the Joker's van on my tail.

We cross the bridge and enter Gotham's bottomless pit.

I continue to floor it.

Then, through the review mirror, I see the white van pull a U-turn and drive back into Gotham's _better_ half.

They have given up the hunt.

But I have not given up the flight.

Ilia's bike takes me into an alleyway deep into the heart of the Narrows, between two paper thin walls of two mold ridden condos to be exact.

The place smells of urine, feces, alcohol and trash.

Lovely.

Not.

I slip off the bike and lean up against one of the walls of the buildings clutching my bleeding side.

I am so tired.

I am so weak.

I am ready to give up.

My eyelids feel heavy and I feel queasy. The blood from my wound is seeping through my fingers as I desperately try to subdue the bleeding. My head is lolling pathetically around and around on my thin neck.

I take out my phone.

I have got to call Gordon.

I have to.

I need, I _need_ help.

I am dying.

My vision is fading now and the lit screen of the phone dances in and out of my vision along with the rest of the world.

My world of visualization fades to black.

_Am I still alive?_

I gaze into what I think is darkness, and then I see Ilia. Her cheeks are not carved into that horrible bloody smile and she looks so surreal.

I reach out to touch her.

"Ilia, is this… Am I dead?"

She smiles sweetly, her undamaged cheeks rising.

"No, you're not."

"How are you here then?"

"Well, I am dead, but it is not your turn to die tonight. Go back."

"I don't want to," I begin to sob, reaching out for my best friend as she backs away into the dark abyss, "I am scared."

"Don't be scared," she says as she turns her back and walks away, fading into the darkness, "Remember, Eva. I'll meet you there someday."

"Wait no! Come Back!" I sob desperately. What does she mean?

Light renters my scope of vision.

I feel strong arms wrap themselves around me, picking me up.

A large masculine form is lifting me up off the grimy floor with such strength but grace.

_An Angel?_

Life is slipping away from me.

_Please, save me._

_--_

**A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger! I hope everyone enjoyed chapter six, sorry it was a bit short. Thanks again to all of you who have reviewed! Also, sorry if you guys find gramatical errors, I try my best to read over it, but sometimes they slip right past me! Please review, I love to hear constructive criticism and your opinions on the story. Thanks again!**


	7. Waking Up

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

_--_

_I am not dead._

_No, not yet._

My eyes open slowly.

Time has passed.

_Where am I?_

I am laying on what appears to be a pull out bed.

There are no sheets, just a few pillows. I am also dress in my original clothes from the previous night.

The sun is creeping in through half opened blinds to what looks like a large apartment room. It smells a bit musky, and the carpet is that of a light cream colored tainted with a few stains. There is a bulky television set that resides on the opposing side of the room. Surrounding it on its left side is a small neat stack of newspapers. In this room however, I am not alone. There is a boy, sitting in the center drawing on a sketchpad.

He must not know that I am awake.

The boy is young; he looks about eight or nine years old. His nimble hand works on his sketch that I cannot see. He has a concentrated look plastered on his little face. The boy's blonde hair bounces as he tilts his head inquisitively while sketching.

He then stops and looks up at me.

A grin spreads across his face, causing small dimples in his pink cheeks.

"You're awake," he says semi-excited.

"Hi," I say, trying to sound pleasant, "Um, who are you?"

"James," he says, "What's your name?"

"Eva," his mirth seems to fill the room, "Can you tell me where I am?"

"Here…" he gives me a quizzical look.

"I know sweetheart, but who's house am I at? Who are your parents?"

"Well, my mommy's name is Barbara and my daddy's name is James too," he says.

The pieces of the puzzles are coming together. I am at Gordon's house, my boss's house.

Oh, this is going to be awkward.

"Who brought me here?" I ask, half-knowing what the answer will be.

"Batman," he says as a matter-of-factly, "When I woke up, you were here on the couch sleeping and daddy told me to just keep an eye on you in case you wake up."

I watch him fidget out of pride on the matted carpet.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on me," I respond, smiling sweetly and I attempt to sit up.

Bad idea.

My side burst with a throbbing ache.

_My bullet wound_.

I lift my shirt up partially to reveal a freshly stitched laceration.

"Whoa," James says as he puts his sketchbook down and moves closer to observe the injury.

"Yeah," I groan in pain, "whoa."

I lean back down on the makeshift bed.

A memory of Ilia from the past floods my memory.

She was happy, dancing and laughing, but now, she is nothing more than a corpse, all because of that monster, the Joker.

_Murderer._

"I'll be right back," James says as he gets up and scurries out of the room, his flaxen hair bouncing on his head. I listen to the pitter patter of his feet which are soon joined by another pair, only heavier. He returns to the room with his father.

The Lieutenant of the GPD.

"Nice to see that you're conscious," Gordon says, "you're lucky he found you in time."

"Thank you for your hospitality Lieutenant. But if I may ask, what time is it?" I question groggily, choking back sorrow.

"Six thirty in the morning, he brought you here at midnight. He stitched you up and everything. You were sedated when you got here."

"How did he know where to find me, and why didn't he take me to a hospital?"

"Like I told you Eva, you just have to trust him. You condition wasn't that bad, if he felt that you needed attention beyond his, he would have proceeded to do so."

"Hm," I ponder what to say to this. Gordon trusts him almost blindly sometimes, maybe I should too, "Well, can you tell him I say thank you?"

"You bet," he says smiling warmly, and he turns his head to face his son who has been silent for that past few minutes or so, "James, I want you to go and get ready for school, you mother and your sister will want to leave soon. Eva and I are going to have to have a talk in private."

"Alright dad. Bye Eva!" he says waving at me before he leaves the room. I respond to his giddiness with my best efforts, "Goodbye James, have a good day at school." James then trounces off. Gordon, however, is still standing in the doorway. His demeanor has changed slightly. His aura is giving off a sense of stress. I watch Gordon look upward at the ceiling and then at the mottled carpet.

"Lieutenant?"

He looks up at me, the light from outside reflecting off of his glasses.

"I can't ever go back to my apartment, can I?"

"No," he says sharply, but it has a spice of warmth within it, "no, you can't. We already know that it was the Joker, we found his _calling card_. We don't even know what his motives were behind his homicide on Ilia Rendell or attempted one on you. You can stay here for the time being, but when you are well enough you are going to have to rent out an apartment, under a fake name. Consider this your promotion, Officer Duren, you're going into hiding and undercover." I don't know whether I should be happy or scared.

Emotions begin to swim.

Gordon continues, "I don't know if I want you on the Joker case anymore-" I cut him off abruptly.

"Lieutenant, that man_ killed_ my best friend. I am not giving up the case until that man is locked away. You _cannot_ expect me to lay off for some safety reasons."

He looks at me intensely, too intensely. I fear I may have frustrated him; I should have bit my tongue. He knows best, doesn't he?

"I know that this is hard for you Officer Duren, but do remember what kind of criminal you're dealing with. You are not invincible to him."

His words are painfully true.

"Lieutenant, I understand your concern, but this is my choice."

He looks at me, exhales and slightly changes the subject, "Eva, I am not sure exactly what happened last night between you and the Joker," he pauses, "but just make sure that this defiance act isn't just for retribution. You are going to have to be interviewed about this to add to the case. Tomorrow is when we are going to have to schedule it."

I nod.

"And what about Ilia's parents? Who's going to contact them since they live in Utah?" I ask.

"They will be notified this morning."

I sob begins to form in my tight throat.

Ilia is _dead._

Gordon senses this.

"I'm sorry about the loss, Eva," he moves across the room as tears begin to slither down my cheeks. He sits gingerly down next to me, careful not to distraught me anymore. I cannot sit up, and I feel pitiful. I am in my boss's houses, crying on his pull out mattress in his family room.

How awkward.

He reaches out a battered honest hand and gently grasps mine.

"It's okay," he whispers as I hiccup, "It's okay."

"No, no it's not," I say back, opening my puffy eyes to look at him through a lake of tears. He looks down at me sorrowfully.

"When the Joker," I try to say it, but I feel bile rise in my throat, burning me like the pain of Ilia's death is burning my soul, "I just… I am just scared Lieutenant."

"Everyone is entitled to feel fear, Eva," he whispers soothingly.

"I know," I sniffle out pathetically. I look up at him once more and I cannot read his confusing expression. His face is not pity ridden nor is it calm. He lets loose a sigh and I watch the tips of his mustache vibrate. It makes me smile lightly. I like Gordon; he is a good man.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asks smiling calmly.

"I hope so."

"Alright, well, I got to go do my job, so I'll see you after work. I want you to stay here all day and rest. If we are done investigating the scene down at your apartment complex, I'll bring you back your clothes and toiletries. You can take a shower today if you like, just be careful of your stitches. I'm sure my wife, Barbara, will be more than happy to lend you some clothes."

"Thank you Lieutenant," I say.

"You're welcome."

**A/N: I know that wasn't a super exciting chapter, but I just wanted to add a bit more character development between Eva and Gordon. Also, let me know what you all think about Eva. Is she realistic? Please be brutally honest! Thanks again for all of you who have reviewed!**


	8. Delivery

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related, I believe DC comics does.

--

My thumb jadedly punches the buttons on the remote to the television as I surf the channels. It is about midday and the apartment is a bit stuffy and hot. However, I am comfortable as I flip through the channels. Nothing catches my interest.

Except the news.

"_Last night, a murder took place outside of the not-so- quaint Gotham's Finest Apartments. Reportedly, Ilia Rendell, an assigned detective at Gotham's Police Department, was killed by a man who has dubbed himself with the name of "The Joker". There were no eyewitnesses at the scene…_" The male reporter's voice fades away as my mind drifts back into the awful reality that was last night. I reach under the Barbara Gordon's nightgown that I am wearing and run my fingers delicately over my stitched laceration.

The stitches to my gunshot wound are bumpy and grotesque. They sometimes catch like little wretched elven fingers on Barbara Gordon's nightgown. Fortunately, they are dissolvable stitches, so they will be gone in a few weeks' time.

But still…

I know that I am going to have a scar there, a little reminder of him, a little reminder of how he took Ilia's life, a little reminder of how I barely managed to escape with mine.

Just. A. Little.

Luckily, I did manage to take a shower and clean myself up. Barbara was kind enough to let me borrow a hair band to pull back my thick unruly hair and a nightgown to rest in. She also made me a scrumptious breakfast; she made me toast to be exact. However, even the nice warm shower and filling toast cannot even begin to seal the gap that I am feeling right now. I just cannot bring myself to accept that Ilia is gone. I want to pick up the phone and call her, but I know that she will not answer. She was my main piece to my life here in Gotham. She was who I would go out with every Saturday to _Fantasia_, who I would joke with and who I saw every day of my life for over the past decade.

It just all seems so unreal.

But the worst part is that it is.

I am interrupted with my selfish grieving when my phone rings obnoxiously.

I look at the I.D. on the front.

Lucas Marks.

"Hello?"

"Hi Eva, it's me, Lucas," he says sounding out of breath.

"Oh, hey Lucas."

"Hey, I heard about last night. I heard that she um, uh, Ilia was um…" He trails off, knowing that he is walking on an unsteady mine field of my emotions.

"Murdered, Lucas, she was murdered," I say to him through the pain of anxiety.

"Yeah. Listen Eva, I'm really sorry. I just called to see if you are okay."

"I'm in existence," I respond, secretly wishing that I am not.

"Well, um that's good to hear," he sputters awkwardly, "I don't know if you've been watching the news lately, but the reporters are still at the scene."

"You mean my apartment?" I ask correcting him in his ignorance.

"Um…" dead silence hangs in the air for a moment, "I'm so sorry Eva, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright."

"So are you okay? Gordon said that you needed to take the day off because you weren't feeling well emotionally. He also told me that you are renting out a room somewhere downtown in saidIlia was spending the evening in your apartment room last night and she was murdered there. He he doesn't want you there, says it's a risk." Lucas explains.

Then I recall this morning with Gordon talking to me.

"_Consider this your promotion, Officer Duren, you're going into hiding and undercover."_

Lucas does not even know that I even had an encounter with the Joker. All the more better I suppose, if I am the one the Joker is looking for, then the least amount of people who know the better.

Thanks Gordon.

"Yeah, Lucas, Gordon's right," I say playing along to his unknown folly.

"I'm sorry to hear that Eva, but you know what might cheer you up? If I took you out this weekend."

"Lucas I don't know-"

"Come on, it'll be fun," he says sounding hopeful. I know he means well.

"Can I give you a call in a few days?"

"Sure."

"Alright," I say.

"Okay, take care Eva."

"You too Lucas."

With a click of the end button the conversation is over. There is no way I am going to be allowed to go out with Lucas, no matter how much I really want to. Gordon will never allow it. If I am scene in a populated area, like _Fantasia _for example**, **the Joker might find out my whereabouts and track me down. I still do not even know why he was trying to kill me and God knows how long I will be able to keep this whole predicament under wraps.

I am only beginning to scratch the surface of what my life is going to be like working undercover. My thoughts are soon interrupted.

As if appearing out of thin air, Barbara Gordon is now standing in the doorway with a plate and a glass of water. She approaches me slowly and sits on the edge of the couch bed. Her short brown hair gives her an intimidating appearance along with her hardened, but pleasant face.

"Hi Eva, I thought you might be hungry so I whipped up some grilled cheese for you," she flashes a pity smile for me as she gingerly hands me the plate.

"Thank you Mrs. Gordon," I say politely.

"Oh god, please, call me Barbara."

"Okay, sorry," I say semi-embarrassed.

"Oh don't be.

She looks down at her opened hands and inspects her palms aimlessly, "So, um, how's your side?"  
I do not respond to this, but instead I give her a half-smile when she looks back up at me and begin to munch on the sandwich.

She passes me the water, clears her throat and speaks, "Well, um, I'm going to go, but I'll be back in here later to check on you, okay?"

"Alright, thank you for the grilled cheese," I say feeling the weight of Ilia's death on me again. Barbara nods and grabs the now empty plate. She leaves and I continue to watch the news until the early evening.

Through the blinds cracks, I can see the sun dipping away now. It is seven twenty two. Gordon should be here soon. The smell of food is wafting through the apartment, so I am obviously suspecting that Barbara is making dinner. It smells like pasta. I feel that I flushed a day. I haven't done anything and it is driving me nuts. I have been left here to rot in my selfish mourning and pain.

How poetic.

Not.

The Gordon's television has been off for a while and every now and I can hear James and his sister playing in the other room. Occasionally, one of them will shout or giggle, which causes me to wonder if I sounded like that when I was younger playing with my two brothers. I would not ever be able to ask the oldest, for he O.D. on illegal drugs and the other, Jake, well he had moved out to Ohio. My parents also moved out of state also and now reside in Washington. Someday I will call them, but not today. Today is the day after my best friend's death and the only memories that seem to be able to fill my mind are that of her.

Tears tease my eyes, but I blink them away. Frustrated am I that I am so susceptible to my self-pity.

I hear what I believe to be the front door of the apartment open which is then followed by a male voice.

Gordon's back.

I can hear him and his wife conversing somewhere in the residence. Although I have been here all day, I have not actually been through much of the apartment with the exception of the bathroom to shower.

I listen to Gordon's tired footsteps go in the direction of where James and his sister are playing. He greets his children and then I hear his footsteps begin to walk towards the room I am in.

He reaches the doorway and walks in holding two plastic grocery bags.

He turns to face me.

"Hi Eva," he says having a stressed expression stitched into his face.

"Hi Lieutenant," I say trying my best to sound pleasant.

"I," he clears his throat and continues, "brought you some of you clothes and your toiletries." He looks down at the two plastic grocery bags, implying that is what he brought them in.

"Thank you so much Lieutenant," I say and I sit up cautiously, not wanting to cause pain to my side, unfortunately this doesn't work out as well as I planned. I let out a small gasp of pain and look into Gordon's eyes. He sees my distress and his mouth fidgets underneath his mustache.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better than ever," I say smiling kindly. He smiles at this remark and looks at the ground.

"Glad to hear that, Eva," he chuckles and shakes his head.

"So, what's new down at the GPD?"

His smile fades quickly and he looks back up at me.

"What? What is it?" I ask.

"Well, the good news is, I was able to cover up most of the evidence that the murder was attempted for you and that you were even shot. Last night, when he dropped you off here, he um, told me what happened. However, tomorrow you have a meeting scheduled to talk to about _exactly_ what happened. Other than that, only a select few know what really occurred. There are," he pauses, "infiltrates from the mob in our unit and I cannot afford to have any of them know that the Joker is after you."

"Well why would the mob matter? He isn't tied in with them."

"Eva, one thing I've learned is that you don't underestimated criminals. That's what gets cops killed," Gordon scowled at me as he said this.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

"For what?"

I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it like a fish out of water. I then feel my brow furrowing in confusion. I tend to do that a lot, apologize when there is nothing to apologize for.

"So, um what's the plan?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"What am I going to do? Where am I going to stay after I get better? When do you want me working on the Joker case?"

"I already told you Eva, I don't want you on that case anymore."

I feel myself getting worked up about this.

"Lieutenant," I hiss, "I already told _you,_ that I am _not_ just going to give up that case. That man is out there, killing people, killing people like Ilia. You assigned me to this case and I am not just going to give it up."

He looks at me and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he is contemplating this scenario.

"I really don't think," he pauses and lets out an exasperated sigh, "I really don't think that you should do this."

I stare deeply into his eyes. He doesn't blink and neither do I.

"I'm not standing down," I say calmly, regaining my cool demeanor.

He does not say anything, he just looks at me.

I stare right back.

There is a long quiet pause.

He sets the two plastic grocery bags down steadily.

"If you continue, just know that you are going against my better judgment, but if you really want it that bad, then I… I guess I let you keep the case. But you do know that you are going to have to work undercover. You are going to have to keep everything about the Joker case clandestine." He says a bit defeated.

"Thank you Lieutenant."

"Hm." He grunts in response.

"Jim!" Barbara called from within the apartment somewhere, "Can you get the kids and Eva? It's time to eat!"

"That's our cue," he said smiling.

"Is it okay if I eat with-,"

"Of course. Can you walk or do you need help?"

"I think I can do it," I say and fully sit up. Gordon leads me to the kitchen.

As for the dinner, I was right, it was pasta; it was delicious just as I assumed it would be. Barbara looks at me as she is cleaning up the meals and says, "How about dessert?"

"Oh, I am fine, thank you," I say sincerely.

Barbara, who is walking around the kitchen frantically to clean, talks over her shoulder, "Alright, anyone else want anything?"

The children mumble no.

Gordon smiles with his elbows propped up onto the table, wringing his hands.

"Um, Barbara?" Gordon asks.

"Yes Honey?"

"Did you get the newspaper this morning? I didn't grab it when I went to work."

"No, sorry honey."

"Okay, I'll be right back," he says. Gordon gets up and heads for the front door which is to the left of the kitchen. When he comes back in holding the newspaper and he looks at me smiling. His aged eyes are crinkled with contentment.

"Eva, there's something for you outside."

I give him a puzzled look and get up and walk over to the front door. I twist the doorknob anxiously, wondering what it could be.

I open the door.

There, sitting in the front, is Ilia's bike which I had thought would be lost forever. It gleams in all its purity. There is a note attached to it.

"_Ms. Duren: You seemed to have forgotten this late last night."_

It is not signed by anyone, but I definitely know who delivered it.

Now, I have one more thing to thank him for than just saving my life.

--

**A/N: I am so sorry for not updating as soon as I should have! I had a lot of school work, as usual (sighs). Anyways, PLEASE REVIEW! It makes my day super if you guys do! Also, please check out my new story "In Talia We Trust" and review! I would really appreciate feedback on it! Please be brutally honest!**

**BTW: Even though I started a new story, "City of the Fallen" is my big project, so please don't think that I am going to put it on hiatus! "City of the Fallen" is first and foremost. **


	9. Harvey Dent

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related. I believe DC Comics does.

------------------------------

It is Wednesday morning.

Gordon and I are stuck in the midst of downtown Gotham traffic.

Awful Traffic.

The sun is stretching outward into the cerulean sky from its long slumber through the night. Its light rays tickle the windows of the corporate buildings, lighting up Gotham's early hours. Cool morning air is wafting in through my opened window; it is seven thirty a.m.

"So about my car," I question, "what's wrong with it? Why didn't it start the other night? And why can't I use it?"

"Eva," Gordon exhales, "I don't know, we'll get it checked out, but in the meantime, use that motorcycle."

I grumble and mumble, "Okay."

I wish I had my car.

I barely have time to think about it until Gordon changes the subject.

"So, Eva," Gordon says to me, facing forward with his hands on the leather steering wheel, "You do understand why I am making you talk to the D.A, right?"

My stomach twists itself into a nervous knot.

Gordon had set me up with an interview, well more like a nicer interrogation, between me and Harvey Dent, Gotham's new DA. I am incredibly nervous and I can feel my stomach acids churning with anxiety.

I never do well with lawyers.

"Yeah," I mumble to Gordon, wringing my tiny hands, "yeah, I know why. But can you please come in there with me?"

Gordon smirks while still facing forward.

"You're a big girl Eva, I'm sure you can handle this yourself. Dent isn't a monster."

I let out a sigh of defeat and look out the window.

Gordon had already gone over the plan with me before we left his apartment. He had told me that I was to go in, find Dent's office on the third floor, and tell his secretary that I am here for the interview on Ilia Rendell.

The rest of the car ride downtown is pretty quiet; neither Gordon nor I spoke a word. Soon, Gordon pulls into a pleasant parking lot, a lot nicer than that of the GPD's or _Gotham's Finest Apartments_.

"Alright," Gordon is now looking me through his glossy spectacles, "I'll be waiting here for you. Good luck, Eva."

I nod and grin amiably as I leave Gordon's car. As I do, a sharp pain electrifies my side. I gasp and stumble a bit.

Stupid bullet wound.

When I walk up to the building, I find security guards standing out front. They are intimidating, but far from what I have encountered lately. I greet them subtly, flash my I.D. badge and allow me to pass. I soon find myself in the lobby; it clean and grayish in color.

It is also very professional in appearance.

Directly at the end of the professional lobby there is a stainless steel elevator.

I listen to my high heels collide with the ground relentlessly as I approach the elevator. When I reach it, I punch the "up" button with my thumb. The doors soon open with and I step inside, pressing the _three_ on the inside wall of the elevator to take me up so I can meet with the D.A.

When the doors open there is what looks to be the corporate world of the law. I am standing in a large hallway dappled with offices along its sides. At the very end of the large hallway, I see a closed door labeled _District Attorney_.

I reach it soon enough.

I am so nervous.

_Calm down._

I knock and twist open the doorknob at the same time. I scan the room with my nervous eyes, there is no Harvey Dent. Instead, there is a front polished desk to greet the guests. Behind it is a woman, young, she looks about nineteen years of age. The wall to ceiling windows behind her permit the sun to shine in and reflect of her pale blonde hair. She works diligently on what looks like paperwork.

She is probably just a temp.

I approach her, my shoes clacking on the tile as I walk. However, as I approach her, I see another door on the far side of the small office. That must be Harvey Dent's office.

"Hello," I greet softly to the pastel blonde.

She looks up with wide dark blue eyes.

"Hi," she says quickly, non -smiling.

"I have a meeting with Harvey Dent. I'm just kind of getting the gist of this place, so do I just sit and wait?"

"Uh-yeah," she says rapidly.

_Okay…_

I find a plastic chair that is set up against the wall and settle myself into it.

"Thanks," I say folding my hands in my small lap.

She snorts and goes back to working quietly.

For what seems like an eternity, I sit and wait for Dent. I pray that he did not forget. Then suddenly hear the sound of heavy business shoed footsteps approaching down from down the spacious hallway.

They are coming closer.

They are almost to the doorway to the office that I am in.

They are in the doorway.

They have stopped.

I turn around in my plastic chair to face that direction.

There in the entryway is Harvey Dent. He is a tall man, wearing a dark blue business suit that accentuates his powerfully built broad shoulders. His blonde hair is slightly ruffled, reminding me of Gordon's. I also note that he has fierce but beautiful sapphire eyes. He reaches out a large strong looking hand for me to shake.

"Hello," he says, "You must be Eva Duren."

"Yes, that's me."

His voice is creamy, almost like warm butter.

I can feel myself turning red.

I have a crush on the D.A.

Lovely.

This interview is going to go _great._

Not.

He lets go of my hand and walks towards his office, without telling me to follow. Nervous and confused, I get up and trail behind him. He opens the wooden door, walks over to his desk and takes a seat in his plushy roller chair.

"You can just use one of those," Dent says and motions at three spare chairs along the back wall of the office.

I do as he recommended.

Feeling like an idiot, I drag a chair up to his desk and plop down into it. I glance around his office, taking in my surroundings. Harvey Dent's office is what one might call an organized mess. He has a multitude of portfolio drawers and files with paper miscellaneously hanging out of them. The wall to ceiling windows behind Dent are identical to that of the secretary's office, however, in here they seem to _brighten_ the mood.

"So," Dent says leaning back into his seat with his hands folded in his lap, "I am going to ask you a series of questions and I need you to answer them honestly. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He says reaching forward and grabbing a pen off of his desk. He begins a rigorous routine of tapping it on the wooden desktop. Dent's eyes are unwavering, similar to the Batman's, however, something smolders behind them that I cannot place. It slightly frightens me and I fidget a little in my seat.

"So how were you affiliated with Officer Ilia Rendell?"

And so the questions begin. They are incessantly invasive for about the next hour or so. I try my best to give Dent my undivided attention. This interview is difficult for me; he is prodding the subject about Ilia's murder and how the Joker was _really_ trying to kill me. However, I do not mention that I was shot. I don't want to bring Batman, into this and so far I am guessing that Dent just assumes that I went to Gordon's place without any "help". As the interview progresses, I cannot help but think how relentless Dent is with his questioning. He probes me like a computer hacker.

No apologies.

No sympathy.

Then again, maybe I am just being selfish.

He needs the information about the homicide more than I do. Dent needs the information to build a case against the Joker for when he is arrested and put on trial. Of course that is, if he ever is arrested.

Dent's words are sharpened like daggers and they sink painfully into my emotionally thin soul. Thank God, the interview is coming to a close now. Dent will occasionally scribble something on a pad of paper while I am talking. It gives me the feeling that he is some kind of shrink and I am his lunatic of a patient.

Goodie.

"Alright Officer, looks like we are just about done here, I think I have a few more quest-," Dent pauses mid-word, something has caught his attention.

Something catches my attention as well.

The door to Dent's office opens swiftly and there in the entrance stands a beautiful woman. She is tall and blessed with long legs. Her brown hair cascades in a carefree, yet professional style, around her oval face. The woman has clear blue eyes that are locked with Dent's dark blue gaze. She leans on the doorway and curves her body in an inviting manner. In her hand she holds a pile of neatly folded papers.

"Hey Harvey, I just came by to drop off some of the Maroni case paperwork," She says smiling at him delicately, her eyes then sweep over toward me, "Hi, sorry, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

I smile back; this woman's mirth has filled the room pleasantly.

"Thanks Rachel, you can just set them right here," Dent say to her. He taps the far corner of his desk, closest to me, for her to place the paperwork.

_Rachel._

I have heard that name before.

Then I remember.

Ilia had to work on something with her, I do not remember what, but what I do recall is that Ilia had said that she absolutely hated her. Ilia said she was a flirt and was annoying as hell. I cannot help but slightly muse at this.

A tiny chuckle erupts in my chest.

Dent flashes me a bizarre look before rapidly turning his attention back to Rachel.

Rachel pushes her weight back onto her feet and approaches Dent sensuously.

I watch, sort of feeling like I should not be here right now.

She reaches the desk and places the papers on the corner of Dent's desk and then looks at me with her long lashed eyes. "Hopefully, he's been well behaved," Rachel says to me and I pity smile at her sad joke.

Dent smirks, "Thank you Rachel."

"You bet," she giggles and exits the office while waving to Harvey, "I'll see you after work."

Dent clears his throat and focuses his attention back on me.

"Sorry about that, I'll have to talk to her about behaving more professional."

I can tell he expects me to laugh, however I do not and stare at him calmly.

He continues on, with his demeanor back onto Mr. Professional, "Oh yes. I have one more question, I almost forgot. Did you sustain any injuries from you encounter with the Joker?"

My heart leaps into my throat.

_Shit._

"Y-yes."

"What kind of injuries."

"A um, a-uh," I can feel the stitches catching on the white blouse that I am wearing. It is almost like they are encouraging me to tell Dent the truth, but some part of me does not want any trouble for the Batman.

Dent stares at me coldly.

"A gunshot wound." I sputter out.

His face does not waver while he speaks monotonously to me, "And have you received medical attention? Is this on your medical record? I am going to need documented proof that you received proper medical attention."

"I um," I mutter thinking as fast as I can, "No, but I did get it stitched."

"By?"

"Uh," this is going to be interesting, "the Batman. He found me, in an alleyway in the narrows. I was dying or passing out, I don't really know. But I really am okay now. The bullet didn't hit anything vital, I really am okay."

"Officer Duren," he says strictly, "You do realize that this cannot be used as accurate evidence."

"I know, I am aware of that, and I don't frankly care. But please, Mr. Dent, I need you to keep this, um, private. The Joker was trying to kill me, as you know. Look, if he finds me, I-I just, please. Gordon told me that I am going to have to go into hiding and take this case undercover with me."

"Okay, Officer, and what if the Joker takes this public? Makes death threats and then everyone knows you are a wanted woman? What then Officer?"

The thought that he has just proposed to me never even crossed my mind.

Knowing criminals in Gotham and having grown up here, I know what Dent says is spot on. The Joker will find me if he really wants to; it is only a matter of time.

I can only hope to hide for so long, until the beef reaches the street.

Then I am screwed.

"I don't know," I say to Dent, "I-I don't know. But please, keep this a secret, until the Joker is arrested, please keep this a secret. No one at the GPD knows, no one and no one can. It's not safe, I'm not safe. I need to just wait it out and hunt the Joker secretly. But what I fear Mr. Dent, is that the hunter will become the hunted."

He looks at me earnestly.

"Officer Duren, you keep me in the loop, got it? Any evidence, anything at all, I want you or Gordon to forward it to me. I don't like how Gordon thinks that he has his own private little team. I didn't become involved in the law to sit around and keep secrets about vigilantes and young female officers; I became involved to put criminals behind bars."

"Okay."

"Okay," he says, "Thanks again for your time. Good luck Officer Duren, because you're sure as hell going to need it."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Sorry about the semi-delayed update. My birthday was on Sunday and I didn't have the time work on it then! Also, please let me know if you find any grammatical errors, I am horrible at proofreading! Please PM if you find anything too serious. Oh, and please Review Review Review! Thanks to all of you who have!**


	10. A Shared Destiny

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Batman or "The Dark Knight". I believe that DC Comics does.

----

Mist shrouds the shoulders of grey tombstones in the distance of _Ledell Cemetery_. Gray clouds blanket out the sun's light and tears dribble out of the eyes of Ilia Rendell's loved ones. Their eyes are empty, drained from the emotional pain of finally saying goodbye.

Farewell Ilia Rendell.

It was just two and a half weeks ago the Joker took her life viciously. Sometimes when I am alone in the dark, I cannot help but wonder what her final moments were like. I can almost hear her last breaths sometimes. I can almost see her hands reaching out for his purple coat in a desperate attempt at redemption from the devil.

_Murderer._

I walk up to the podium that is placed in front of the somber crowd. Eyes of sadness follow me delicately and mist over with pain. When I reach the podium, I project my weary voice to commence my final farewell, my eulogy, to my beloved friend Ilia Rendell.

"Many years ago," I say, "I was in the playground at my old elementary school. It was my very first day of school. I was alone; I think we all were at that age. We were just discovering ourselves, just finding out who we truly wanted to be, finding people who wanted to have a destiny that was akin. That is the definition of a friend, someone who shares a piece of their destiny with you."

I pause, feeling the wind run through my hair and tickle my scalp. I glance around at the people who are looking at me expectantly to continue. They all appear forlorn with tears brimming or have already broken and spilled over. I know why everyone here this evening looks this way and they have a right to.

One man.

One knife.

One night.

Red, black and white.

It all happened.

The Joker has killed a part of everyone that is here this evening on Friday the 21st.

Even a part of me, Eva Duren.

In a way, he has murdered more than just one soul.

In the front row of the seated crowd, there sits Ilia's direct family. On the right Ilia's mother, Jillian, sits with a dazed look on her ageing face. In the middle sits her father, Richard, who is a large man, but even he seems to be broken into shattered little pieces. Last but not least, on the left side, sits Ilia's older brother, Damien, who is looking at me with a heartbreakingly sincere expression.

"Ilia Rendell was one of those people that you would meet, and realize that not only are they going to share a piece of their destiny with you, but that they are a part of it. Sometimes, we like to think we know where we will end up, that we can _predict_ what is going to happen, but we can't. What we can to, is find people who will walk side by side with us until we are lost in the maze that we call life. When we are lost, they are there to help us find our way back out again. Those people we call friends, sisters, brothers, mothers and fathers. In our darkest hours we cry out to them and call them heroes and saviors. In return they say they did it because they love us. That is exactly what Ilia Rendell did; she walked with us through the maze of life. From the day I met her on that playground, I decided that I would walk with her if she would walk with me. Walking through that maze can be terrifying, especially if you are walking alone."

As soon as I finish my speech, people get up, pay their respects to Ilia's grave and leave _Ledell Cemetery_. I soon remember that I am to call Lucas Marks to come and pick me up. I pull out my cell phone and punch in Lucas's digits. I have to call him because Gordon wants me to get a ride from him after this is over. Gordon was kind enough to drop me off.

As soon as I am done making the call to Lucas, I search the graveyard with my eyes to see who is still here. I glance around and see that even Ilia's parents are leaving, but not Damien. Damien crouched by Ilia's tombstone, running the ends of his long fingers over the groves on the grave. He turns his dark haired head to the side to look at me with his light blue-green eyes.

He stands up and reaches to his full height of about six feet. The dark charcoal coat that he is wearing matches the dark furrows in his brows. He tucks his hands in his pockets and approaches me.

"Hi Eva," he says not looking at me.

"Hi Damien," it has been so long since I have talked to him face to face. He has changed so much, in demeanor and looks.

"So, how's life?" he ask me trying to be casual.

I look around the graveyard that is covered in a blanket of fog.

"I, it's um, alright. And what about you, how is Wayne Enterprises?"

"Good, good, it's doing well. I was um, promoted to a member of the board. The pay is really nice and I am enjoying it."

"Well, that's good to hear. So anything new?" I ask, feeling the conversation changing, the tension is slipping away.

"God, it's been so long since I've seen you," he states randomly, staring directly into my brown eyes.

I giggle a little and he smirks and asks, "Yeah, so?"

I've missed him too.

"I missed you to Damien."

He throws his arms open wide and reaches over to embrace me in a bear hug.

_If Ilia were here, she would laugh._

Damien is just like an older brother to me.

He hums deeply as he pulls me against his large chest which causes me to laugh aloud. He tickles me playfully and I squirm in his grasp.

He soon lets go and places me at arm's length with his large hands positioned on my shoulders. He looks my face over with his sea green eyes. I look at his face and I realize how much he looks like Ilia. His high cheekbones and tan skin remind me of her. I broken smile twitches onto my face and tears taunt my eyes, threatening to spill over. I laugh and the dam of tears breaks. Damien gets a bewildered look on his face and I see his eyes start to become glossy.

"I'm sorry," I feel my happiness turning over to sadness, "you just remind me so much of Ilia. I'm sorry. I should go."

He smiles softly at me, "Come on, I'll walk you out."

I nod and lean against him in a plutonic way as we leave _Ledell Cemetery_.

We are soon standing in the parking lot and Damien still holds me tight by his side. The cold air is nipping at the tip of my pointed nose.

Lucas has not arrived yet.

"So Bruce Wayne is holding a fundraiser for Harvey Dent tomorrow and I was invited. He said I could bring a date; do you want to go with me? Well, it wouldn't really be a date, you know? Because that would be, well, you know…"

"Yeah, I get it Damien, I'll just be the fill in," I say sarcastically and giggle before continuing, "But, yeah, I'll go."

"Alright great!" he exclaims, over embellishing on how excited he really is.

"Okay, calm down," I say.

He laughs.

"You know Eva, I've missed you."

_I know, Damien._

I smile at him.

"So, where's your car?"

"It's in the shop."

"So, do you need a ride home or are you just going to stand here?"

I have not told him that Lucas is on his way to pick me up.

Jesus, I feel like I am a teenager again with this whole hitching rides thing.

"Oh, thanks Damien, but I can't. A friend of mine is coming to come pick me up."

See, the truth is, is that Lucas and I are a little more than friends. I have been seeing him for the past two weeks at much as I can. I wouldn't consider us that stupid label of boyfriend and girlfriend; I like the going steady term better. Gordon only allows me to see Lucas because he trusts Lucas. Other than that, I am very isolated in my bunker of a hotel room that I rent out under the name of Jessica Rawlins. I do not have set hours, but Gordon sends me information on the Joker via e-mail. I check into the GPD regularly, but not enough to cause too much attention. So far, the Joker has not taken his beef with me public; every night I cry myself to sleep out of fear, except when I am with Lucas. Things are definitely different when I am with Lucas in the dark.

"So, I'll pick you up tomorrow night like about six thirty, seven-ish?" Damien questions.

I think fast.

As much as I like Damien, Gordon will never allow me to go if another person needs to know where I live.

"How about I meet you there? That would be much easier for me."

Damien's face twists into a fake perplexed look and places his palm on his chest, "Do I offend?"

"No, God no! Damien, you are such a smartass!"

Damien throws his hands up and cries out, "Touché!"

I nudge him in the ribs.

"I think it would be a good idea if we exchanged numbers."

"Why, yes Eva it would be," Damien mocks.

I roll my eyes and smile.

While we are exchanging numbers I see Lucas's Audi turning in the parking lot.

_Time to go._

The Audi reaches us and Lucas rolls down the window.

"Hey Eva," Lucas grins.

"Hey. Alright Damien, I'll see you around?"

"Yeah uh," Damien says with a smug yet suggestive smile on his olive face, "I'll see you around."

I hop into the passenger seat of Lucas's automobile and let out a sigh. We drive off back into Gotham; the sun still shows no sign of poking through the clouds as the darkness of night begins to fall on Gotham.

"How's your day?" I mumble the question to Lucas.

"Good. How are you feeling?"

"I'm, um, I'm surviving." I half joke.

"Hm," Lucas grunts, rapping his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, "Who was that? That man you were standing with?"

"Oh," I sense jealously boiling underneath his youthful skin and I am careful as I reply, "That was Ilia's older Brother. He just a friend, I promise. He asked me to go to a fundraiser for Harvey Dent tomorrow, I said I'd go."

"Where?"

"Bruce Wayne's Penthouse. Please don't be mad," I beg slightly, I guess I am just trying to avoid his bullshit. Sometimes Lucas can get a little bit of a control freak and I think he does it because he knows that my life was at jeopardy a few weeks ago. I am starting to believe that what Ilia had said about the Joker was true.

"_He's a nobody, he's got no connections."_

I have been doing some research on him and interestingly enough, he has hit up a couple more banks since I was first assigned the case. Evidence is hard to scrounge out but I think, give or take a few months, we will have him behind bars in no time.

"So it's not a date," Lucas states more than he questions.

"No, it's not a date; I'm just going with him to visit. He like my other brother Lucas, so don't worry."

"I'm not worried," he says quickly, "I'm not."

There is an uncomfortable pause.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask.

"No. No, I'm not. I'm happy for you that you met up with an," he swallows, "old friend."

"Okay," I whisper.

"We are going to have to get you a dress, aren't we?" Lucas says, now grinning.

"It's okay, I have the white one that I ca-"

"No Eva," Lucas interrupts, "No, if you are going to be amongst Gotham's finest, then we're going to have to get you something special."

"Really Lucas, it's fine."

We come to a red light and he turns to face me temporarily.

"Come on," he looks at me with his intelligent brown eyes. I watch them slide over my body and he places a hand on my leg that is closest to him, "Let me make you happy."

I smile at him and touch his hand.

"Lucas, a dress doesn't define me," I blink slowly as I say this.

"No, but I want you to feel like the most beautiful woman there."

I sigh.

He is just so sweet, how can I say no?

"Okay."

"Okay," he confirms.

The light turns green and he says to me, "Your place or mine?"

"Mine."

Lucas nods and turns to the right to go to the hotel that I am staying at.

We soon arrive there.

"Do you want me to walk you up?"

"I'm fine, thanks though."

"Okay. Take care, Eva. I'll be by here tomorrow at about eleven to take you out to find a dress."

"Alright, thank you."

He nods, "Sure thing."

I climb out and soon find myself in my nice room.

I turn on the news just to see if anything has happened that I don't know about.

Nope.

Same old same old.

I sigh, grab some clothes, and walk over to the bathroom.

I need a shower.

As I walk over though, the voice on the T.V. catches my attention.

"_What you are about to witness may be disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised."_

There on the screen is a man bound to a steel chair. His black hair is matted to his forehead and his head lolls forward. He has a badge attached to his blue shirt that anyone down at the GPD could recognize anywhere.

A Gotham police officer badge.

The video looks like it was shot on a cam quarter.

"_Tell them your name,"_ the cameraman's voice says. I feel my blood freeze in my fearful veins. My stomach twists into an anxiety knot for I recognize that voice.

The Joker.

I watch in horror as the man manages to sputter, "_Alex."_

"_Tell them what you do? Are you the bread winner, Alex?"_

Alex whimpers, "_I am an officer at the GPD. Please..."_

A purple sleeved arm and purple gloved hand comes into the picture and strokes the side of Alex's pale face.

"_Shh shh shh…"_ The Joker coos and then he cuffs the man once on each side of the face. "_Now_," the Joker's hand continues to cuff at the Alex's face, "_As an officer, I am sure that you would be delighted to tell us how you feel about the Batman. Do you think he has made Gotham a better place?"_

"_He's a emblem that gave my family and Gotham hope. He gave us a reason not to be afraid of scum like you."_

Oh god.

His family.

_Murderer._

"_Oh you do Alex, you really do. But you know what; I'll make you a deal. Like a-uh collateral. Do you know an Eva Duren? Do you know where I might find her, hmm? We have some, uh, unfinished business."_

My heart just about stops.

_Shit._

Alex shakes his head from side to side slowly and mouths something, "_Bastard."_

"_What's that Alex?"_ the Joker's voice raises in question. He then turns the camera on himself. Red lips peel back to reveal discolored yellow teeth. His dark eyes look like pits leading into hell. His red painted scars bob up and down on his white cheeks as he speaks to the camera.

"_You see this is how crazy Batman has made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, then Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh and as for Eva Duren, she must come out and quit playing hid and seek. Every day that Batman doesn't turn himself in and every day Eva Duren is still breathing without me by her side, then people will die. Starting tonight. I am a man of my word,"_ The Joker then unleashes a sickening laugh. The cam quarter's video them becomes erratic and blurred in picture. Alex's screams make their way into small blips sound on the video's audio.

The newscaster then comes back on and I shut off the T.V. feeling petrified. My hands are trembling and I feel as if I am going to vomit.

Dent was right.

The Joker took this public.

I walk over to my bed and sit down. I then draw my knees up to my chest and snake my thin arms around them. Tears begin to flow down my washed out cheeks and I wretch, trying not to vomit. I cry for myself and for Alex; that man does not deserve his fate.

For what seems like an eternity I sit like this, enveloped in my own self pity.

All of that changes when my phone rings.

It is Gordon.

"Hello?"

"Eva," Gordon says, almost out of breath, "Are you at your-"

"Yes."

"You are not to leave without my permission, you got that? The Joker has recently sent in a video to press. I-"

"I know Lieutenant. I've seen it."

Gordon lets out a sigh that statics through the phone line.

"What do you want me to do Lieutenant?" I ask.

"I want you to stay put."

"Alright."

"I'll call you soon," Gordon says.

The phone call ends.

I sit there for a while, filled with rage or sadness, whichever one it is I cannot tell. I glance at the electric alarm clock that rest on the nightstand by my bed.

It is now eight thirty.

I walk over my window that overlooks Gotham city. The blinds to it are closed so I open them to reveal Gotham in its finest hours.

The hours of the night.

When the sun is asleep, that is when some of the greatest and most terrifying things come out to play.

I look up towards the dark clouded sky.

There is no moon tonight, nor does the insignia of our savior shine out. I wish to see the Batman again someday, just to say thank you. Maybe he is not human, maybe he is something more, something that will never be forgotten and will never be thanked by the people of Gotham. Yet one day, if one listens closely, there might be murmurs of his name, wisps of it in the night air of Gotham. A silent prayer to our angel is what we will all hear.

Someday.

But not tonight.

Tonight is when I need to speak with him. What the Joker wants is the Batman and me. I will not be able to live with myself if I do not do anything and let more people die instead of me. It already happened once, with my best friend and soon to be the second time with the man named Alex. Sometimes, I feel I have learned the hard way and then I realize that it probably was Ilia.

My greatest fear is that of death.

I fear the Joker because I fear death and to know that he wants to see me beg him, see me tremble and fall due to inflictions from him, is horrifying. However, the scariest factor is I do not even know why.

I look at the sky again and make my decision.

I leave the hotel room and make quickly for the parking lot.

Ilia's bike is in sight.

I reach it and tear to the GPD on it. When I arrive there, I try my best to climb quietly up the fire escape to the rooftop. Thankfully, I make it to the rooftop creating too much ruckus. I see that the special spotlight which casts the symbol into the sky is off. Slowly and nervously, I walk up to it and switch it on with a shaky small hand.

It beams into the sky in all of its glory.

A sigh of pride and apprehension shakes out of me. I do not really know if the Batman will show or not; all I can do is hope that he will.

_Gordon is going to kill me._

_----_

**A/N: Okay, as you can probably all start to see, this story is going to entwine itself into "The Dark Knight". This is a character development and morality story. Please Review. I am wondering as a writer if you readers find this story entertaining or not. If it is moving to slow, tell me. If it is moving too fast, tell me. Let me know what you all think, feel and hopefully look forward to reading. Even constructive criticism is great! Thanks again for the millionth time to all of you who have taken the time to give feedback and thanks to all of you who take the time to read "City of the Fallen."**

**BTW: If you are a reader and don't have an account, I enabled the anonymous reviews thing-y! Yay for you! **


	11. Alias of the Darkness

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related. I believe DC comics does.

--

A pale ashen form of a bat hazily lays across the black clouds over Gotham. I wait alone on the dimly lit rooftop of the GPD. The air is thick with humidity but it is teeth-chattering cold outside. In the back of my mind am frankly surprised that Gordon has not found out that I am here. I have been keeping a close watch on the door that leads into the GPD from the rooftop, just in case anyone is to try to sneak up on me. The fire escape is not much of a worry because not many people know about it.

Maybe Gordon is not coming.

Maybe he is at home with his loving family, away from all of this.

For now.

Tomorrow is another day.

The cold weather at the moment is unbearably frigid and it bites into my flushed cheeks. Tucking my knobby hands under my armpits for warmth, I look up at the night sky to reassure myself that I am not just waiting here for nothing. I am waiting to talk with the Batman about the Joker's beef he has put onto National Television.

Great.

The short hairs on the back of my slender neck stand on end due to the cold and because of the petrifying fear that aches in my soul.

The fear of death that could soon befall me.

I hope to never see the Joker again but somehow I know that is probably not going to be the case.

I close my eyes, lower my head and shiver. My eyelids pinch together tightly as if I am trying to close myself off from the world. I can hear the cars rolling down the streets and can taste the fetid smells rising up from the garbage that is somewhere nearby. However, another sensation washes over me in this introverted state.

It is the feeling that I am not alone.

My eyelids snap open.

My throat contracts with fear when I see what seems to be a phantasm.

The Batman.

His dark intelligent eyes ferociously steal my gaze.

"Gordon doesn't know I'm here," I whisper. I can feel my body curving in on itself, trying its best to look submissive.

"_Stop it,"_ I command to my body in my mind, however it is no use.

He says nothing.

Darkness seems to crawl from all corners of the rooftop and from the surrounding buildings to blanket the atmosphere around him. Shadows dance into the everlasting furrows on his robust cowl. His dark cape adorns his large plated shoulders and body. It folds around his powerfully build arms like wings of an angel.

Or wings of a bat.

With each moment that passes by he sends excitement and fear through my spirit in an adrenaline rush.

He terrifies and fascinates me.

My stomach does a small flip before I open my mouth to speak.

"As you probably know, the Joker has put his beef with you and me out there. He's threatening to kill innocent people until I come out of hiding and until you turn yourself in. I think that we should, well, we should do something," I say to him trying my best to not break the gaze that we share.

"You should do nothing," he growls gutturally. His voice is deep, animalistic and husky. My hands shake in fright and I take a step back from him, bumping myself into the large spotlight that projects the Batman's symbol into the night.

I quickly shut it off.

His aura feeds off of the darkness that now covers us both.

"N-no," I stutter out, "No, I have to, but I am going to need your help, as well as you will need mine. This isn't a matter of pride; this is a matter of getting the job done. I can't do it alone, Gordon won't let me. He just doesn't want to see me get killed. I-"

Something catches my attention.

It is the door that leads into the GPD to the rooftop.

Someone's coming.

Oh no.

The door opens.

It's Gordon.

"What the _hell _are you doing here Eva?" He hisses in anger. I have never seen him this heated before. He makes his way across the rooftop and stands directly in front of me.

"I told you to stay back at the hotel," he yells shaking his fist at his side, "If you were to have been seen by one of the Joker's men, you could've been killed. You say you want the case, but how can I make sure now that you aren't going to just run off chasing him on your own."

"I'm sorry."

"Jesus Eva, don't be sorry, just don't do it again."

"Look, I came here to talk with um," I cough a little and glance at the Batman. Gordon gets the gist and allows me to continue, "I think that you are going to need my help, more so than you thought. I have been gathering information on the Joker for weeks. You're going to need my help and expertise on him if you want to catch this man. Cut my leash, let me help."

Gordon glances around and sighs an exasperated sigh that exposes his lower teeth.

He glances at Batman who stares intently at Gordon and me.

"Eva, you have no idea what you are-"

"Lieutenant, I can help. Let me."

"Jesus Eva," Gordon mumbles while running a hand through his hair, "I guess there really is no stopping you."

I tweak a weak guilty smile.

Gordon pivots on his heel to face the Batman. I slowly walk up next to Gordon and peer over his shoulder at the Batman. The Batman's steady eyes shift to me as I linger next to Gordon. I feel uneasy, back up slightly and wrap my arms tightly around my small waist. The Batman continues to stare, so I take a particular interest in my shoes.

"I'll keep you posted," Gordon says with a nod to the Batman.

Silence is his answer.

When I look up, I see that the Batman has disappeared.

Vanished.

Just like a phantom.

"How does he do that?" I question aloud to myself and Gordon.

"You'll get used to it," Gordon smiles.

"I'm sorry for, you know," I mutter to the ground.

"I'm not mad that you came to here," Gordon says to me.

I look up sincerely.

"I'm mad that you were stupid enough to risk your life for a conversation. You should have called me; I would've taken you here if you need to that badly."

"I'm sorry," I whimper to Gordon and he places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Don't be sorry, Eva."

I feel like his child.

"Next time you have any plans on where you're going, notify me. Got it?"

"Yes. Speaking of which, I was invited to a fundraiser for Harvey Dent at Bruce Wayne's penthouse by an old friend, Damien Rendell. He's Ilia's older brother. Is it okay if I go?"

Gordon steps one step backwards and searches the floor of the rooftop for an answer. He then starts to nod and looks up at me through his glasses.

"Yeah, you know what, that would be fine. We've got Wuertz and a few other detectives and officers patrolling the perimeter because Dent's going to be there. Here in Gotham any nut could just come and try to kill Dent, we need to always be ready. That should be fine, yeah, that should be alright. Do you have a means of getting there?"

"Yeah, I'm taking the bike."

Gordon gives me a skeptical look.

"It'll be fine. I'll call you before I leave and when I get there," I say, begging a little.

He sighs.

"O.K., but in the meantime, go home and get some rest. From now on, you keep me posted on where you're headed if you go out."

"I promise. Goodnight Lieutenant," I say smiling genuinely and I take the fire escape back down to go to Ilia's motorcycle. I soon reach it and climb on to start the engine.

As I soar through the streets of Gotham, I try my best to think of nothing but the roar of the engine beneath me and the wind that whips through my brown hair. However, an excited emotion in my stomach dances around for the rendezvous that will be tomorrow night. I am looking forward to being amongst Gotham's finest.

--

**A/N: Alright! Mr. Batman made an appearance again! Yay! Am I being true to the traditional characters (such as Batman, Gordon, Joker, Harvey Dent, etc.)? Please let me know if there is anything that you found out of place. Another quick question, how do you readers feel about Eva? I hope she is not a bore! Again, thanks for all of you who have reviewed! It is the highlight of my day when I see that someone has reviewed, so please keep that up! Thanks for your support!**


	12. The Fundraiser

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related. I believe DC comics does.

--

My right hand squeezes my clutch purse anxiously as the elevator to Bruce Wayne's penthouse climbs skyward.

Our destination: Harvey Dent's fundraiser.

Tonight, I feel confident.

Beautiful even.

I look downward to view my light gold strapless dress. It is short, maybe to the top of the knee or mid-thigh and flows around me when I walk. The dress is ruffled dramatically in the front and some of the ruffled strips are longer than the others, giving it a divine appeal. My hair is pinned up in a loose curly bun with a thin gold hair band that runs through it. A few loose curls hang down to frame my face with my bangs.

Nothing can ruin tonight.

However, I soon realized earlier that I could not ride Ilia's bike due to the fact that I am wearing a dress. Thankfully, Gordon was kind enough to drive me.

"Are you excited?" I ask Damien.

He smiles, "Seems like you are."

I grin at him through pink lips.

"You look _so_ cute," he says teasingly.

"Thanks," I pause and look at his cheery face, "for inviting me."

"Any time," He laughs. It is hard to believe that this man is a board member for _Wayne Enterprises_.

The elevator door opens to an aural room filled with the corrupted wealth of Gotham. Men and women finely dressed mingle and chatter with one another.

This place is enormous.

Bright decorative lights glimmer throughout its entire span and trickle onto us as we enter. Hues of caramel, brown and light gold are all brought to life by the displays of luminosity. The flooring is tile, giving the air an acoustic sound effect when feet pitter-patter upon it. Dappled about there are tables draped with white cloth that either have food or wine glasses. All of the windows on the far side are floor to ceiling that allows one to stare out into the city. There is a door that leads outside to a fine balcony and another that leads out to what I believe is a helicopter landing pad.

Bruce Wayne's penthouse pulses luxury.

"Come on," Damien says, stepping away from me, "I want you to meet some people."

Now, when Damien said, "Some" I guess I took it too literally. For the next hour or so, I am shaking hands with some of his business associates and their plastic doll dates as well.

My face hurts from fake smiling.

Many of the men that I meet ask Damien for my name while giving me suggestive side glances. When they do this, I want to haul out and hook them in the side of the head. I find it kind of funny when Damien says, "Eva Duren," some of them get a frightened look while others are completely oblivious as to what goes on inside of Gotham. I would bet my life that many of the guests that are here tonight do not even watch the news.

Welcome to the high life of Gotham.

Ignorance is bliss.

Damien soon allows me to mingle freely. I let out a silent sigh of relief and make my way awkwardly over to a table with champagne glasses. When I get to the table I discover to that the glasses are clean and empty. There is not a champagne bottle in sight. Disappointed, I decide to go and find Damien. As I turn on my heel I am surprised to find an older man with snowy white hair standing behind me with a platter of filled champagne glasses. He is dressed in formal attire, a black suit. His polished black dress shoes reflect the amber light.

"By my judgments Miss, I would say that you would be looking for one of these," he smiles and fluidly hands me a glass.

He has an accent.

British perhaps?

"Thank you," I say to him and take his offering tenderly.

"You are very welcome, if I may ask, are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, I am thank you," I say to him and he smiles satisfactorily.

"I am pleased to hear that Miss. Master Wayne will be arriving shortly," he smiles and leaves with a polite nod.

I make my way back into the gossiping mass of wealthy humanity. However, a familiar face catches my eye.

Harvey Dent.

He and I make eye contact. When he reaches me, he holds out a large firm hand for me to shake. I grasp it with my own and I feel as if my small thin hand is shrinking in his.

"Hello Eva," he says almost apologetically, "How have things been?"

"Okay," I lie.

I can feel my cheeks flushing.

_Great_.

"And you?" I rebound the question.

"Good. My uh, office and I have been doing everything we can to build a case against the Joker," he says, his tone is now low and serious.

"Thank you," I say honestly.

"Hey Harvey," I turn to see who is calling his name. It is Rachel Dawes, the attorney that I had met in Dent's office two and a half weeks ago. She is wearing a lengthy green dress that adorns her curvy figure appealingly.

"There are some people who want to meet you," she says to him, turning her head flirtatiously to the side.

He sighs and runs a nervous hand through his blond hair.

"Okay," he says to Rachel and then focuses his attention back on me, "Take care Eva."

"Thanks you too," and with that he leaves.

Uncomfortably, I stand alone for about five minutes, sipping at my champagne. I have no idea where Damien is, so I decide to look for him. Eventually I find him chatting with a balding man and a vixen of a woman.

"Hey Damien," I say when he is done talking to grab his attention.

He slowly turns his head and faces me.

"Hey. Are you having a good time?"

"Yep."

"That's good. By the way, when he gets here, I'd like you to meet my boss."

"Um okay."

"He'll be here," Damien pauses and the sound of helicopter rotors coming from the outside fills the room, "I guess now."

All eyes are glued to the helicopter pad that can be seen through the floor to ceiling glass windows. A black helicopter lands and within a few moments an attractive man wearing a dress suit pops out of the helicopter's door. His brown hair waves madly due to the gust of wind from the rotors. He turns around to face the door again and one by one pulls out three beautiful women.

It is almost like watching a magician pulling rabbits out of a black hat.

He wraps his large arms around two of their waists while the third one tags along by linking arms with one of the others.

_Say hello to the prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne._

They arrive at the door and enter extravagantly with the helicopter chopping off into the air above Gotham.

Wayne detaches himself from his posse of estrogen and makes his way to the center of the wide eyed crowd. He speaks out to Harvey Dent, who is currently holding a champagne glass in what looks like a nervous hand. Wayne then calls out for Rachel Dawes; she shifts uncomfortably and has an agitated look on her face as words of mocking praise for Dent pour out of Wayne's mouth.

"And you know what?" Wayne concludes, "I believe in Harvey Dent."

Everyone claps.

Including me.

Wayne then makes his way out of the center of the crowd and heads for the snowy haired man. Wayne taps him on the shoulder with the back of his fingers and then leans close as if he is trying to whisper something; he motions his hand in a circular motion at the crowd and then reaches for a glass of champagne.

Damien then begins to tug me in the direction of Wayne. I do not fight him, but internally I am.

A hot shot like Wayne?

Er… No.

Defiantly no.

We are getting closer.

Wayne looks up, raises his eyebrows and smiles at Damien. He then starts to walk in our direction, meeting us halfway.

"Glad you could make it," Wayne says holding out a firm hand for Damien to shake.

Damien takes it.

There has been _a lot_ of handshaking here tonight.

"Yeah, thanks for inviting me Bruce," Damien replies with gratitude.

_Bruce? I guess they are more than just co-workers._

I guess it makes sense, Wayne and Damien must be close in age, it is logical that they would bond.

"You uh, you think you could hook me up with one of those models?" Damien almost pleads to Wayne when he asks this. Now on normal circumstances I would not be offended, in fact I may even laugh, but the fact that we are at a party and I am considered a date, that was just such an asinine thing to say.

Wayne's attention turns to me.

"Well, it looks like you've already found one," Wayne says to me while holding out a hand, "and this is?"

I blush.

Wayne's eyes flicker to Damien and he smiles.

"Eva Duren," I say as his hand envelopes around mine.

He seems completely oblivious like many of others here tonight who have not recognized my name from the Joker tape.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he smiles.

Wow, he is handsome.

"Likewise."

I can feel my cheeks heating up like red hot coals in a scalding fire pit.

"Well," Wayne says to Damien while letting go of my hand, "I'll see you on Monday but if you don't mind," he says nodding to me, smiling imperfectly.

I nod in reply as he walks off into the crowd of rich leeches. I cannot help but think to myself that being Wayne, a pampered playboy, is probably a lot harder than people give his simple nature credit for.

Oh well.

Not.

Something then catches my attention; my purse is vibrating. My phone _inside_ my purse is vibrating. I want to let out a dramatic sigh, but I do not. Whenever my phone rings nowadays, I know that it cannot be good. I open the clutch and feel my brows knit with anxiety when I see the number.

Gordon.

"Hello?"

"Hello Eva," his voice sounds like radio static, "We've got a problem. We believe that the Joker has made a threat against the lives of Harvey Dent, Commissioner Loeb and Judge Surrillo. I want you to help get Dent out of there, but don't make a scene, got it?"

I swallow a lump of stress.

"Yeah, I got it."

"Alright, Wuertz will be coming up to help you. Outside there will be other units waiting to transport Dent out of there, you leave with him too."

"Okay."

"Call me when you've got Dent secured," Gordon then hangs up and I go to try and find Dent. I struggle to push the thoughts out of my mind about how I am going to explain this to Damien. I know I do not have the time to think about that right now.

As I search I see the light atop the elevator light up signaling that someone is coming.

Relief swirls inside me.

I approach the elevator through the crowd and watch it tick to the final floor, my floor.

The doors open.

Wuertz is standing in the middle of the elevator, holding up his gold GPD Detective badge.

But something is wrong.

Very very wrong.

I notice several men behind him are wearing masks.

Clown masks.

_Oh god._

I sidestep into the crowd to not be seen.

Wuertz is thrown forward and falls flat on his unresponsive face.

In his place is the man that has haunted my dreams and made me once again afraid to walk alone in Gotham at night.

He stole Ilia's life and my freedom.

Everything seems to slow.

Part of me wants to murder this man and the other tells me to _run_.

His face contorts itself underneath the scars that mar him and the greasepaint he slathers on in several emotions that I cannot read.

He is something incomprehensible and horrifying down to every gritty fiber.

The Joker.

"We made it," he bellows sardonically.

He steps into the room, raises a purple gloved hand that holds up a large shotgun and fires a round into the ceiling.

This ensues in a quiet panic.

Tension begins to suck the air from my lungs.

"Good evening ladies and gentleme-_n_."

He and his monsters fan out at the entrance of the room and start to spread out like a hungry pack of ravenous wolves. I feel petrified in the frozen crowd.

"We are," the Joker pauses to reach for a shrimp from one of the white tables, "tonight's entertainment."

--

**A/N: I am sorry to everyone who is an avid reader that I had not updated at my usual pace but school once again interfered with my updating. Thanks a bunch for all of you who have reviewed! I love to hear all of your feedback!**


	13. The Consequence

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman the Dark Knight or anything related to The Dark Knight (including quotes) or Batman. I believe DC Comics and Warner Bros. does.

--

"I only have one question," the Joker says while chewing at a bit of stolen shrimp cabob, "Where is Harvey Dent?"

No one responds.

Something then clicks inside my mind; the Joker does not know I am here.

He is asking for Dent.

Not me.

Quickly, I contemplate the odds that are stacked against me. Calling for backup on my phone will draw attention so that is out of the question. I also am not armed so trying to put the Joker and his cronies at bay would be very unintelligent. I decide to walk slowly, very slowly, through the crowd in a covert attempt to find Dent and escape.

Using the Joker's unawareness to my advantage, I slink slowly through the crowd like a panther in search of her prey. My eyes watch the men in clown masks to make sure that they do not notice me. When I find Dent, I have got to get him out of here.

Fast.

In my mind I pray that back up will be sent here. Then another thing comes to mind and that is if the Joker got in, then _somehow_ he subdued the other cops outside.

I watch the Joker saunter up to some of the guests, threatening them at gunpoint and occasionally cuffing them on the cheeks as if to force them to ooze information on Dent's whereabouts.

My heart is beating so fast.

My eyes search the vicinity for Dent but no matter how hard I strain them, I cannot find him. I stop and stand like a mannequin in a glass box to watch the Joker. He approaches an older balding man nearby with glasses.

"You know," The Joker says as he snatches the man's food from his hand, "I'll settle for his loved ones."

The Joker pops the food into his scarred mouth.

"We're not intimidated by thugs," the man defies.

_Bad move._

The Joker's face twists in contrived confused.

"You know," he grumbles and slams his shotgun down onto the nearest white clothed table, "You remind me of my father."

The Joker flicks out a switchblade and grabs the gentleman. He uses his free hand to savagely cup the back of his head and the other to poise the switchblade skillfully by his mouth.

Anger starts to tighten its hands around my soul's throat. As I watch the Joker cradle this man's life, it makes me think of what happened when he grabbed Ilia and shoved his knife into _her_ face.

I am about to intervene.

I start to shove through the back of the crowd until another being gets the same idea.

"Okay stop."

The voice is feminine and I have heard it before this evening.

Rachel Dawes.

She steps out of the cowering crowd.

Her arms are crossed in a confrontational manner but I can tell that she is afraid.

The Joker sinuously hands the balding man over to his masked helpers. He then turns his full attention to Rachel and starts to walk towards her in an awkward gait.

"Well hell-_o_ _beautiful_," the Joker coos while sarcastically trying to slick his stringy hair back. He then points his knife at her accusingly, "You must be Harvey's sq_-uheeze._"

He waltzes up to her.

"And you are beautiful," he says gruffly, almost to himself as his eyes roam over her timid form.

He circles around her like a hungry shark.

She shies away in disgust.

"You look nervous. Is it the scars?" The Joker asks innocent and sincerely while motioning to his face, "You wanna know how I got 'em?"

He motions with his hand for her to come to him as he mumbles for her to do so.

She does not move.

Fear glows off of her.

Rage boils inside of me.

I want to run out there and beat the living _shit _out of him with my small knobby fists. To watch him slither a gloved hand behind Rachel's head while the other situates itself by her mouth to press the blade by tinted lips makes me sick. All I can hear is the pounding of blood in my ears and the Joker struggles to keep Rachel in a firm grasp as he tells her his story of how he was marred. If I had a gun, I would take my chances and hope that the GPD would send more units down here. That way I could get him out of the building and into a little padded cell.

Hopefully.

If not, the consequences would be _horrifying_.

Rachel knees him in his crotch and he sleuths off of her panting and laughing.

"A little fight in you," he says gripping the knife tighter and then motioning to himself as he draws near her again, "I like that."

"Then you're going to love me."

Appearing like a phantom the Batman powerfully hooks the Joker in the head. He staggers and falls backward before regaining his ground. Many of the clowns rush toward him in a fearful aid and attempt to fight the Batman.

Good luck.

Not.

As I watch feeling numb with anger and fear, my eyes refuse to move away from the horrific scene. The Batman's cape flourishes in satin black ripples as his body twists in the ballet of battle.

The Joker struggles to keep up, but I can tell he is enjoying it. His tongue wags out like a tired dog in entertained frustration as he tosses what is left of his masked men at the invincible Batman. I watch one of the men attempt to pull out a small handgun however the Batman sends the gun flying out of his grasp with a sickening _crunch_ to the forearm.

The gun slides out of the tumble.

It spins around freely on the cold milky tile.

Seeing it as my only chance of getting any leverage, I rush out to seize it.

No one notices me.

Not even the Batman or the Joker.

When I reach the gun I tenderly pick it up and retract back into the crowd. I check the magazine and find that it is full.

Good.

Nevermind.

I look up to discover that the Joker holding Rachel with one strong purple sleeved arm nearby a window.

He holds a small handgun to her head.

She struggles in his powerful grasp.

"Drop the gun," Batman growls.

"Yeah sure and you just take off your little mask and show us all who you really are," the Joker retorts wittily and lets out a short guttural laugh. He then shoots a round behind him, blowing out the clear glass.

The Joker then dangles Rachel out the window.

_Shit._

"Let her go," Batman snarls.

The Joker squints at him before answering, "Very poor choice of words."

He laughs a disgusting cackle and releases Rachel to plummet down to the unforgiving streets of Gotham.

Batman dives after her like a black angel into the night.

The Joker runs out of the way and giddily busts out in a fit out throaty laughter. All of his men lay scattered unconscious throughout Wayne's party room due to the beating from the Batman.

I turn the safety off the gun and lock my elbows.

_The perfect shooters stance._

I approach the Joker.

The gun is aimed at his greasy head.

He looks up and the giddy demeanor fades.

The Joker recognizes me.

"Put your hands behind your head."

He smirks to himself and does so.

"Walk towards the elevator. Do not turn around."

He complies as I trail behind him, gun pointed at his head.

As we walk through the room to reach the elevator no one speaks a single word.

They all just stare.

When we reach the elevator, I order the Joker to stand by the door with his hands still on his head.

I punch in the _DOWN_ button.

The doors open.

"Walk to the back of the elevator and keep your hands above your head. Face the wall and do not turn around."

He complies wordlessly but somehow I get a feeling that there is a simper on his painted face.

I step in the elevator, only to let my guard down once to punch in the ground floor button.

This is perhaps the worst mistake I could have ever made.

The Joker whips around and grabs me in a headlock.

As the doors close, I see Damien; his face is plastered in disbelief and fear.

The doors slam shut.

A purple gloved hand wrestles me for the gun.

He gets a hold of it and attempts to yank it from my hands.

_Shit_.

Thinking fast with my trigger finger, I empty the magazine into the floor. The sound of all of the gunshots is deafening and my ears ring in pain.

_No more bullets, sorry pal._

I drop the gun.

The Joker still holds me in a headlock and begins to constrict.

I croak for air.

"Sush sush," he whines gruffly in my ear.

I struggle.

He releases me and I crumple in a heap at his feet. The Joker kicks me off him and I slam into the wall of the elevator.

The whole capsule rattles like a bird cage.

My entire backside and head throb.

I lay motionless.

Only my brown eyes follow his every move.

The Joker spins around on his heel and picks up the gun that lies frozen on the cold hard floor. Turning back to me, he squats to my level with the empty gun in hand. The Joker scrutinizes it with fake interest and then turns to face me with his head cocked unnervingly. His green tinged hair shadows his white oily face and his eyes smolder with menace.

"_Naugh-_ty," he whispers gutturally through crimson scarred lips and pats the gun on his free palm.

I turn my head away from him. I am horribly disgusted by him and infuriated with myself that I was foolish enough to mess up.

"Look at me."

_No._

The Joker then delivers a backhand to my cheek.

It stings.

I roll my eyes back over to meet his.

"Good girl," he says pleased.

"Fuck you."

"Hm," he grunts, mouth twisting in disgust, "You've got a naughty mouth _too._"

I can feel my body regaining stability and I make a quick, pitiful attempt to crawl away from him. He scoops an arm under me, wrapping it around my stomach and flips me onto my back.

The tile in the elevator is ever so unforgiving.

I bit my lower lip to keep from crying, however I do not know if it is from the fear or pain.

He straddles my waist and pins my hands under his knees. I can feel his long purple coat drape over my thin legs.

Dread pumps adrenaline through my freezing veins.

I struggle but he grins in amusement above me.

He flicks out a switchblade.

_Please._

"I want you to call off your boys," he groans as I writhe beneath him. The Joker snakes his fingertips to the back of my neck while tilting up my chin with his thumb. He then rests the knife atop the soft flesh of my neck.

"Don't," I whimper on the verge of tears.

He licks his lips and bears his teeth for I continue to thrash about. I can feel pressure being applied to the blade threateningly.

I stop.

"Call 'em off," he orders.

"Who?" I desperately choke out.

"You're _cops_," he says stretching out the last word while rolling his eyes.

"I don't, I, please, I don't know... I didn't talk to them, it's just..." I whimper.

"What? It's just, what?" He mocks in a sympathetic voice.

"Me," I murmur to him.

"You just couldn't wait to handle me on your own, _could _you?" He says huskily.

The Joker's tongue snakes out to massage one of his grotesque scars.

A large firm lump of trepidition tightens in my throat.

The knife is still held steady.

I feel his gloved hand jerk away from my neck and travel down to my side. His fingers knead the flesh through my dress until he finds what he is searching for.

I gasp and feel the electric pulse of excruciating pain surge throughout my small form.

_My bullet wound._

It is healed, but not entirely.

"I remember this," his grins.

I yelp and squeeze my eyes shut as he pinches hard.

"Please," I beg, "stop."

He dips his head low and snarls, "No."

His vulgar scent drips into my sinuses.

Internally I gag.

My eyes snap open and tears burn their corners. A white hot pain stabs at my side as the Joker continuously manipulates the mutilated flesh.

"_S-stop!_" I scream, "I-I don't know if they're here. I don't..."

"Prom-_is_e?" He says skeptically turning his head to stare at me out of the corner of his sinister eyes.

"_Yes!"_ I scream through a desperate but honest sob.

He bursts out into a horrible hearty laugh as I weep like a child under him.

"Y-you are so much _fun_, Eva," he sputters out amongst his jovial laughs.

"Stop it," I squeal.

"Y'know, I might, uh_, _just have to keep ya around a little longe-_r_," he says dragging out the _longer_.

I want to ask him why, but I already know.

He wants a chase.

A game.

_Ding._

The elevator doors open.

He dismounts me and stands up, brushing the front part of his coat with his purple gloved hands. With a flick of the wrist he snaps his small switchblade closed and shoves it back into his pocked. The Joker stares down at me with a wicked grin crackles across his face. He picks me up like a rag-doll by my forearms and stares into my eyes. I want to shrink away into oblivion I am so scared. His eyes narrow and he throws me headfirst into the wall of the elevator. My vision flickers and then comes back to reality. I watch deliriously as the Joker waltzes into what I am guessing is the main lobby to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. It has the same golden color scheme as the fundraiser room I was just in. At the far side, there is a security guard, dead. I feel sick to my stomach when I see that his brains have been sprayed against the wall behind him from a gunshot to the head. The place is vacant and I can see that the glass doors have bullet holes.

The Joker turns back to me and cocks his head inquisitively while he tightens his tie.

I try to sit up and crawl to the farthest side of the elevator.

Away from _him_.

I can hear my heart pounding through my head.

His eyes darken and he sucks in his bottom lip.

"I had fun tonight," he says very seriously while nodding his head slowly.

I simply stare, terrified.

With that he turns around and walks out of the lobby. I know that it would be foolish to chase after him. Through the broken glass doors, I see a white van with tinted windows pull up. The Joker exits and leaps into the van.

I watch it speed away and disappear into the greasy nighttime streets of Gotham.

He escaped and it is my entire fault.

The elevator doors slam closed.

--

**A/N: Okay, wow, I took a very long time to update, but I hope I did not disappoint any of you! Please review and be as honest as possible about this chapter! Thanks for all of you who have reviewed in the past, it means the world to me when I receive them.**


	14. Tomorrow

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related. I believe DC comics does.

_--_

"_Eva, the Commissioner is dead."_

Gordon's raspy voice echoes in my memory.

"_Judge Surrillo is dead."_

The Joker escaped.

"_We've got Dent. He's safe."_

It is my fault he is still slathering on his face paint for another massacre. The GPD might have been able to secure a perimeter around Wayne's penthouse and arrest what was left of the Joker's thugs, but the Joker has crawled back into the shadowed slums of Gotham to lick his wounds _happily_ until he plans something again.

Something bigger.

Something worse.

The reminiscence of our encounter earlier tonight haunts my psyche. The way I was pinned underneath him and cried like some kind of innocent makes me feel sick.

I showed my repulsive susceptibility to him.

And, he _loved_ it.

He saw the glitter of fear in my brown eyes and wanted more, he now wants a hunt. The Joker views me as a toy to play with, but my query is what happens when he gets bored? His not-so-fastidious arched blade will want the last dibs.

My stomach gets that sick dropping feeling like one gets while plummeting down a treacherous drop on a rollercoaster. Your hair swirls around you head as you see the ground coming closing and closer, but yet you know very well that there is no getting off the ride that is life.

_Keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times._

The Joker manipulated my emotional pain, digging into my soul and letting me know who would be the dominant one: him. It infuriates me. He deserves death, but am I really the one to decide that?

_Should've pulled the trigger._

I could have.

I should have.

But I didn't.

The question that bites into my conscience like a voracious crocodile is_, "Why didn't I?"_

I think it is at this moment for the first time that I realize that this case in not a "case" anymore.

When I started just about one year ago as an officer, I remember that I was never afraid of any kind of criminal or thug. Paranoia was always a factor, but if one is a woman in the city of Gotham that would be a reasonable emotion. However, it was always easy to slap on a pair of cuffs and shove them away in the catacombs of prison. They did not matter to me; I just wanted to fight the scum of the city that I love, Gotham. I never thought anything of it except my job and my life; everything was so predictable and reliable, _even_ for Gotham. However, this _Joker_ is quite the opposite of his stage name. He has taken my friend and a piece of me to her grave, perhaps that piece was my courage. To know that he is out there alive make my blood boil and run cold in a repetitious cycle.

_Should've pulled the trigger._

Killing is wrong, I know that. I do not need a lesson in morals, but right now retribution sounds so good. However, something that I have learned honestly in my short diminutive life is that thoughts about a situation are almost always different than how we really act. I was am still am blinded by the idea of some kind of revenge, but I mine as well agree with myself deep down and be realistic; alone I can never win and killing is never a first-class answer.

Maybe I am not being realistic.

I continue to ponder what the glass hands of the future hold for Gotham and myself. In the deepest grittiest fiber of my being, I know that my fate resides within the Joker's love for anarchy and if the GPD and I are lucky enough to catch him.

My life of trying to serve justice will be determined by an insane nihilist.

I can only hope for a fairytale of a salvation.

Tonight, the same night after the disastrous fundraiser for Dent, I lay awake in Lucas Marks' bed. Together we are entwined by his satin bed sheets and our heads rest on his thick luxurious pillows. My naked body is pressed to his and the blissful sound of his sleeping breaths wisp by my ear. For this one moment, everything that has happened in the past few weeks dissipates into my restless mind and I cherish that I have a lover. He is so gentle, so kind to me and I trust him with my life. His arm is draped possessively across my midsection with his fingers subconsciously pressed into my abdomen.

Sleep drags at my tired eyes.

I pray that this serene moment in a city of corruption and hate will never end.

He loves me, I think.

I feel safe and not afraid with Lucas.

I crane my head over my shoulder to sneak a look at his sleeping form. His brown hair tickles his tan face. Light from the city creeps in through his halfway opened window and dances over his soft, but yet masculine features.

His eyes flutter open.

"Eva," he whispers and stares at me through moonlight stained eyes. He moves his hand on my abdomen up to stroke some of my dangling hairs out of my face. I turn fully to face him. My eyes close slowly as his tender fingertips sweep across my brow.

"Yes Lucas," I whisper back shakily.

"Are you afraid?" He asks softly.

"No."

"Then why does your voice shake?" Lucas inquires.

"I am scared, Lucas," I admit pitifully, feeling tears tugging at the corners of my eyes.

"Tell me," Lucas slides his arm back down and places his warm soft palm on my ribcage.

"You know what happened at the fundraiser, with the Joker," I speak softly, "he said…"

I pause.

"What?" Lucas presses warmly.

"He said he was going to keep me around," I murmur with fear curled throughout my words, "He killed Ilia, Lucas, he murdered her. I thought I could handle all of this, handle him, but I guess I overestimated what I could take."

_Should've pulled the trigger._

"No," Lucas says to me gently, "You didn't."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"I trust you Lucas," I whisper.

"I like to hear that," he says and kisses me tenderly.

I kiss back.

Lucas then stops and pulls back slightly to look at me curiously.

"You're crying," he states as tears trickle down my face.

"I'm fine," I murmur and roll my eyes at my own foolish lie.

Lucas is not a fool.

He stares at me with his intelligent gaze and moves his hand upward toward my bare breast. His thumb makes circular messaging motions underneath it while his hand tightens around it.

"Don't worry Eva, I'll keep you safe. I won't let him touch you again," he whispers in my ever-listening ear. I can feel Lucas' moist breath on my neck now.

I moan slightly.

I wish his words are true.

"You can't stop him Lucas. You can't," I place a hand on his firm chest and push him back gently, enough to give him the message that now is not the time, even though his arousal has awoken mine.

He reins his sexual desire and considers my statement.

"You don't know that," he says with lust powdered across his thick words.

"Yes I do."

I give Lucas a pathetic smile as a few tears spill silently onto my face. He pulls me tightly against him and rests his head in the crook of my neck. I embrace him back and curl against him. Soon, I fall victim to the console of his arms and tumble into what I wish was a timeless sleep.

****

Gordon had asked me to take the day off, especially considering the Joker escapade last night, but I guess something has come up. A little under an hour ago, I received a phone call from him and was informed that there was a double homicide committed by none other than the infamous "Joker".

Great.

I was asked to come down to an apartment complex known as _The Burrows. _Via word of mouth, I have heard it is not such a wonderful place to reside, for it is in the pit of central Gotham. However, the Narrows has it beat by a landside in terms of poor living conditions.

The sun is setting again, its golden radiance on the sleek glass windows of corporate buildings melt off and seem to hide under the streetlights that cast their faux greasy orange glow. A thick white fog blankets the twilight sky, covering the almost iridescent stars. The streets are full of angry drivers trying to make their way home from work, but the funny part is, I am on my way to mine. Thankfully, I have my own car back now. I could not keep the bike anyway, for I did not have a motorcycle license and the Ilia's bike was not registered in my name. I slid by though without prosecution. If you are an officer, and the city that you work in is Gotham, then _almost _anything flies.

Soon enough, I find myself pulling into a very run don parking lot to that of _The Burrows_. When I get out of my car, I hear a sharp crunch under my foot. I look down and see that it is green glass from a broken beer bottle.

How lovely.

In the surrounding vicinity of the complex, I see that the other units have already arrived. A few officers are standing outside. Luckily, I recognize one of them.

"Hey Mendes," I say, "Where's Gordon?"

He points a thick finger to an entrance of one of the sections of _The Burrows_. It happens to be section E. I nod in response and let my feet carry me to the building.

When I enter section E of _The Burrows_ a familiar scent enters my sinus; the stench is that of recently fired gunpowder. Down a long hallway, I see two male GPD officers dress in finely pressed dark blue uniforms standing outside the last door.

"Excuse me," I say approaching, "Where's the Lieutenant?"

They turn their attention to me, surprisingly, a woman's voice pipes up from behind them. I see its owner as she shoves her way out of the room.

"Listen Officer Duren, Gordon's busy right now," she says sternly with furrowed brows. Her straight dark hair is pulled up into a disheveled ponytail and a few loose strands hang intimidating in her fierce face.

"I was call-"

"I know you were called, Duren," she spits my last name ferociously and continues, "but you're just going to have to wait." Now, normally, Ramirez and I get along quite well, but I am guessing that today is an "off" day for her.

I smile delicately and sadden my eyes to try and diffuse the her frustration. Slowly, I walk to the end of the hall, waltz past the two officers and a fuming detective and poked my head into the forbidden room.

A musk of gunpowder, sweat and blood suffocates the cramped apartment. At one corner of the living room, there is a ratty looking sofa and a dinosaur of a T.V. The flooring and thin walls peel to reveal a moldy undergrowth.

There are no windows.

I see Gordon with his hands on his hips. I notice that his breathing is quick and flustered; that is never a good sign. Gordon acknowledges my presence with a perturbed glance through his shadowed spectacles

I now see why he is truly "busy".

Like a black mass that seethes in the darkness, the Batman glides throughout the dark room. There is a table in the middle of the apartment, with two dead men slumped over opposing each other. They both have one arm stretched out across the table. In their lifeless hands they each hold a fan of playing cards.

Joker playing cards.

When my vision starts to adjust to the room, I see that the men's' faces have been carved into perfect Glasgow smiles. Black, red and white paint has been skillfully applied to create a cruel parody of the Joker's.

_Murderer._

My blood simmers in angst under my skin, but it soon cools when I glance at the Batman to find him staring back.

Right back.

He holds something in his hand, a brick perhaps? It is too dark to tell.

Cautiously, I take a few steps into the room toward Gordon.

"What happen?" I ask.

He looks at me a long time before answering.

Almost too long.

"Seemingly, Eva, some puzzle pieces are finally starting to fit," he says while walking slowly over to the table laden with two corpses. I watch him curiously as he motions with his head ever so slightly for me to come closer to him.

I obey.

When I am next to him, I look at his face waiting for an answer.

He points to the center of the table which has a folded up newspaper. On it, I notice Gotham City's mayor, however his faced has been scribbled on. His eyes have been blotted out by dark pits and his mouth is an ear to ear read smile.

The Joker leaves his mark again.

"He's got his eyes set on our Mayor now," Gordon says in a soft voice, "and he's put it in tomorrow's paper."

I nod and peer closer at the article. That familiar feeling of anxiety swirls inside me; he has selected a new target. The Joker is controlling my fear and I wonder how long it will take for him to finally cradle my frailty fully. It is a very daunting thought that the only thing that might stand between us is Gordon, the Batman and my own wits. The thought of Batman immediately triggers the temptation to take a sneaky glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head slightly to see if I can catch a glimpse of the being that saved me, but to my disappointment, he has vanished from the scene.

Gone.

I look back at Gordon and see the discontentment in his aged eyes. Tomorrow is Loeb's funeral ceremony. Tomorrow the Mayor will give some elegant speech about how _great_ our Commissioner was, and if the Joker holds true to his threat…

Tomorrow will be full of many surprises.

--

**A/N: I am very very sorry that I did not update for a very long time. I had a lot of school work and I could never find the time to write, but hopefully you will all enjoy this chapter. **

**This chapter was basically a glimpse into the relationship with Lucas and Eva. Please let me know what you think about them! ****Another thing that I would like to address about this chapter is that it goes into (hopefully) an explaination as to why Eva is so timid. She by nature is a tad paranoid, but nothing to excessive. It is the Joker that makes her so afriad; she fears him above all things. **

**If you do get the chance, please review! What makes writing this story so worthwhile is to hear what you all think about it. Thank you for all of your kind and thoughtul reviews, I read them and respond to them all! BTW, for those of you who are anynomous reviewers, I could never thank you enough for your support.**


	15. Assassination

Discalimer: I do not own Batman or anything "Dark Knight" related. I believe DC comics does.

---

Bagpipes hum for the dead in this austere morning. The sound of synchronized drums set a tempo for the sadness of thousands of footsteps to follow. Today is the funeral for our dead Police Commissioner, Commissioner Loeb. It is solemn moment and if one is to listen closely, one can almost hear the worried souls whispering about how the Joker might stay true to his threat against the Mayor of Gotham. Because of this, Gordon has positioned a couple of Gotham's finest law enforcement sharp shooters along the fire escapes of the surrounding buildings to take out any suspicions.

Through the street we march, all law enforcement members, in a parade like style. There are endless rows of the GPD's officers walking in their pressed suited uniforms.

At the end of the street there is a large elevated platform with foldable plastic chairs. This is set aside for a few GPD's officers to sit and watch the ceremony, while the rest stand in formation for Loeb's honor. In front of the rows of seats, there is a large wooden podium for eulogy speakers.

How lovely.

After the horde of organized law enforcement and I make it through what feels like the valley of shadow, I make my way to my assigned seat in the second row atop the platform. I have to sit between Detective Silverstern and Officer Ricardo. Quietly I settle myself into the chair, secretly wishing that Lucas was able to attend this with me, however his cousin was in town and he couldn't make it.

Bummer.

Gordon takes his seat in the first row directly in front of me which happens to be right behind the podium, slightly to the left.

The ceremony begins.

The drum line and bagpipes silence themselves in a rehearsed hurry as the Mayor takes a stand at the plinth. Out in front of him, there is a large opened area in which the honor guard stands, obviously there to perform after his speech is over. The Mayor commences his speech with a noble acknowledging to the Commissioner and then leads into a more heartfelt personable eulogy for Loeb. Throughout, I find myself nodding my head somberly in agreement with what I wish are honest noble words.

Sooner than I thought, the honor guard takes their computerized stance. Their white bleached gloves skillfully weave their polished guns in synchronized twirls and throws, catching them before they hit the ground.

Harmonized in perfect timing, they fire blanks into the somber morning air. The Mayor of Gotham stands watching with a pompous grin on his face. The Honor guard recoils and begins to twist their rifles and hands in intricate patterns, only to stand in a perfect shooter's stance and fire again.

As the blanks burst into the cool atmosphere, I notice that this time they are not entirely in sync. Perhaps someone did not pull the trigger quickly enough.

Or perhaps I am wrong.

I notice that the snipers up on the fire escapes are aiming at the apartment building to my right down the street.

_Oh shit._

I see one of them shaking off the kick their M16A2; he has already fired a round at the building.

My heart punches the inside of my chest, screaming adrenaline through my veins. I turn my head quickly to see if anyone else notices this.

No one does.

Except Gordon.

He turns his head in the direction of the sound, obviously shaken by the familiarity of honest gunfire.

The honor guard members recoil from their shooters stance, meanwhile the Mayor is smiling like an idiot, completely oblivious to sniper fire from down the street.

Then something catches my keen eyes. A man in the honor guard, who is closest to the Mayor, has deep scars that stretch from the corners of his mouth and upward into his cheeks.

A Glasgow smile.

I then begin to understand, the guns in the honor guard probably are not all just going to fire blanks. Part of this macabre jigsaw puzzle begins to click. The Joker was right under our very nose the whole time, and our sense of smell failed. I try not to think about what the Joker has done to the real honor guard men and what horror they have faced. I then understand that all of the honor guard members are the Joker's goons. The Joker's eyes burn with a determination as the entire honor guard pivots fully in the Mayor's direction. His intense concentration is undivided as he lines up the perfect shot at the mayor's chest.

_Oh shit._

His eyes are locked on his target.

His finger pulls back on the trigger.

As the bullet whizzes through the air, time seems to slow.

My legs thrust my body into a stand and I try to jump for the Mayor, over a row of officers, but I know that I am not fast enough. I stumble and trip, falling flat on my useless face.

It is all over, or so I think.

I twist my head up in time to see Gordon leaping up from his chair, grabbing the Mayor in a bear hug in an attempt to throw him out of harm's way. Gordon's body seize in pain for I know that the bullet just crashed into his back. I see the Mayor quickly stumble back onto his feet while a few officers run to his aid. I look up to find that the once organized mass of humanity that was mourning for the now dead commissioner of Gotham has erupted into a volcanic spew of chaos and fear. Screams penetrate the street. People run and shove each other in a mass hysteria.

The situation is escalating to beyond a point of redemption.

I watch in horror for it feels like Gotham is tearing itself apart. Control is now a dying ember in a sea of ashes. My eyes record the disguised Joker sprinting in a ducked saunter as he and his goons make a break for it in the waving wheat field of humanity.

_Murderer._

In effort to be helpful, I bark orders at officers that are standing in a confused daze, telling them to hightail it after some of the Joker's escaping entourage. I would do this myself, but I do not have a gun. This only aggravates me and this is why I should carry a one on me.

_Stupid._

A few of the Joker's accomplices do not make it far, for some are captured by miscellaneously placed GPD officers. Their faces contort in rage and fear at the cold tip of a gun is pressed forebodingly to their sweaty temples.

Good.

_Bastards_.

I see Gordon being swamped by paramedics, attempting desperately to keep him alive and to transport him to an ambulance. My heart aches with the pain of loss that I know is inevitable. In Gotham, no one is laden with luck.

I feel so frozen.

From somewhere deep within the frenzy more gunshots sing out sharply.

More screams of chaos follow like a crescendo.

I long to pump rounds into the Joker's _fucked up face _for he is tearing me apart. Barely, I am able to compose myself. What holds me together is the growing need for retribution mixed confusingly with my grief and fear. I know that he will be out in Gotham for one more night, one more night that he is not behind the bars.

One more night could make all the difference.

My ears seem to give out and a silent ring fills them, perhaps from the deafening gunshots.

Or perhaps from something else.

_Savor the silence, because it is all you're ever going to get._

I am punched back into a realistic state when screams fill my ears, that is until I realize they are not screams.

Wails of Gordon's ambulance squeal and I twist my head to see one speeding away. It just all seems so unreal. Behind the platform, I see detective Stevens conversing with Ramirez. I sprint up to them.

"What's Gordon's condition? What the hell's going on..."

"Gordon's not going to make it," Steven's says to me. His eyes are glazed with the frustration of tears that are holding themselves back. I wish I had the power to do the same.

My world crashes down.

"What?" my lip quivers.

"He's not going to make it, Eva."

_No._

"No, he can't be dea-, no, no…" I hold back a sob and weakly embrace detective Stevens as his arms wrap around me gently. He strokes my back with one of his large hands, attempting to comfort me.

"It's gonna be okay," he says softly, his weathered voices echoes in my head. More gunshots strum the airwaves.

_No, no it's not._

_---_

**A/N: Okay guys, I am honestly feeling a little iffy about this chapter, in short, I do not think that it is very good. I have really been struggling with it. That is why it took me a long while to update, so please be honest and let me know what you think. However, this is Eva Duren's take on the events that take place during "The Dark Knight" and also (as you know) events that involve her behind the central story. Please, I would love to hear your opinions on everything, so if you get the chance please review. Thanks for your support!**


	16. The Rooftop

Disclaimer: I do not own "TDK" or anything "Batman" related. I believe DC comics does.

--

As I have so many times before, I stare out of the rain painted windshield of my newly re-obtained car. My gaze is unmoving as I stare at the GPD. Something is eating away inside me, something that I cannot identify.

I feel so vacant.

In my stupid crummy car I try to make the decision whether or not I should go into the GPD and do what I came here to do. I eavesdrop on the sleepless rain's lullaby, playing like a song on the steel top of my car.

It is pouring outside, but it is still slightly warm. I watch the steam rise up from the gutters on the curbs outside the GPD.

The rain still will continue to sing, regardless of who lives and dies in this sin filled city.

I want to close my eyes and slumber off in a world where the bad men do not exist.

It is really too bad that life is not a fantasy that we ourselves get to write.

_We just aren't that lucky I guess._

Many cars flood the parking lot, working double time.

Almost all the cars, except one.

Lieutenant Gordon's.

_He's dead._

I cannot believe it, I feel hallow.

And afraid.

Always.

Tonight, I come here not to work on cases about men in clown makeup with scarred Glasgow smiles, or to work alongside my kinsmen. I am here for something else entirely.

I listen to the rain play music on the steel of my car, reminding me again of the heavy rain the pours outside.

_I should've brought an umbrella._

Oh well.

Reluctantly, I get out of the car and am smacked in the face by sheets of dark unrelenting downpour. I thrust the collar of my coat up, in attempt to avoid the sensation of one thousand and one pins pricking my flesh.

I wonder what it would be like if Ilia were walking with me right now to the steps of the GPD, or what it would be like to enter and go talk to Gordon.

Wishful thinking will get me nowhere.

Quickly, I enter the GPD, walk down the main hall, and into the hub of the detectives' offices. Whilst passing through, I glance at Detectives Ramirez, Stevens, Wright and Kimberlan while working in their offices, but one in particular catches my eye. Detective Hannings is hunched over his desk working rigorously on paperwork of some sort. Tired bags hang under his dark eyes and his grey hair is in a curly tasseled fury. I notice his small bald spot on the back of his head.

Hannings looks up at me with wrathful glazed tired eyes.

"What the _Fuck _are you doing here, Duren?" He says, blinking slowly.

"Just um, going up to the roof," I say, slowly stopping in front of his office.

"Goin' up to the roof," he snorts, "Stevens and Ramirez waited up there for over an hour and that stupid Bat fuck didn't even show up. He doesn't give a shit about us. Duren, what the hell makes you think his is gonna give a shit about you."

I am a little shocked by his abrasive verbal attack.

"Hey, why don't you show some respect?" I say, raising a hand.

"Show some respect, show some resp-, you know Duren, that's great. 'Specially comin' from you. You come in here, don't even bother to help _ANY_ of us and are just going to traipse up to the roof to talk to the Bat. Well guess what, we're all a little shaken up. Both our bosses were killed by thatbastard in the purple suit. We're upset and you just come in here not even bothering to-."

I have had enough of this. Furiously, I leave and make my way quickly up to the rooftop via the stairs. When I reach the door to the roof, I open it swiftly. Gotham's rain continues to pour down and I waltz out into it, closing the door behind me.

I never did like Hannings.

Rage and sadness boils into a deliciously dangerous cocktail of emotion inside my small body. I ignore the irritating rain that smacks me in the face and soaks my wavy hair and the foolish words that spewed out of the asinine mouth of Hannings.

If only he knew…

_If only_.

My feet carry me over to the specialized spotlight and my little hands turn it on.

Still I find myself amazed by the powerful symbol as it climbs its staircase made of light into the nighttime sky. A malformed shaped bat stretches across the heavens and sleeps against the dark clouds.

Now I must wait and hope that the Batman sees his calling, though he should surely know that will not be Gordon standing on this rooftop. It might be more than enough to sway the Batman's decision _not_ to pay a visit to me, the pathetic Eva Duren.

I feel anger flurry through my heart again and in my stomach I feel the fear that the Joker has imbedded inside my conflicted soul. I feel those stupid things called tears slither into my eyes and I run my hands through my drenched hair in an attempt to calm myself.

I can do this.

We are only given what we can handle in life, and if this is what I must fight then I have no other choice.

But even a self pep talk will not stop the flood of emotions that comes over me.

Tears break the dams that are my waterlines and spill onto my cheeks, only to blend with the sensation of rain melting onto my face as well. Slowly, I walk closer to the spotlight and lean against the side of it for some kind of faux comfort.

Time passes, perhaps an hour, two hours.

I have absolutely no idea.

My anger has subsided and all that is left is my fear and my loneliness.

The dreadful rain has finally stopped, but I am still completely soaked through all my layers of clothing.

Including my Bra and underwear.

How delightful.

_Ugh_.

So tired I am now, I am just about ready to go home and sleep until the next turmoil filled day. I decide that that would probably be the more reasonable thing to do than wait for a ghost to appear.

Slowly, I turn to face the light completely and shut it off. Yawning and stretching my arms, I turn around, but my heart almost explodes out of my throat when I see him.

The Batman.

His body encased in armor gleams with dew on the dimly lit rooftop of the GPD. The Batman's cape titivates his broad and powerful shoulders, giving him the appearance of folded wings. Deep permanents furrows in his cowl give him a menacing and dominant appearance. Those dark insightful eyes brew with a tamed rage and penetrate my doe-like brown eyes.

I break eye contact, too intimidated to look at him. I feel so stupid, to call upon him and am now too scared to even say anything. I open my mouth to speak and then close my eyes tightly and shake my head slowly, pursing my lips.

I open my eyes to look and him and force myself not to break the gaze.

"I feel so useless," I finally say in a quiet voice.

He says nothing, but tilts his head ever so slightly, in an inquisitive and patient manner.

When he does this, even though it is ever so subtle, it soothes me and allows me to continue to speak without much apprehension.

"I mean, what can I do to stop the Joker. I guess I don't really know what to do, I just thought maybe if I asked you since, since you know, Gordon's gone and he trusted you I thought… Well I guess I really don't know what I thought," I say frustrated and continue, "I just don't know what to do anymore. He murdered my dearest friend and killed the Lieutenant. Gordon saw something inside of you, trusted you, more than any of our cops. I just don't know where else to go. I just want to help."

I stop, hoping that I did not sound too desperate and weak, even though I know I already have.

There is no turning back the tables to take back what I have said to this spirit.

The Batman's dark eyes burn with a wicked intensity, they speak of his hostile past, yet there is something about him that I cannot read.

Nevertheless, eyes always hold something.

Even in a creature like the Batman.

"I'm afraid and I am _tired_ of being afraid," I utter through an exasperate whisper.

He looks at me, long and hard, tasting my weary soul through _my_ eyes.

Then, he speaks.

"Don't be afraid, Eva."

The Batman's voice is feral and baritone, embracing the creature that he has harnessed so carefully from within himself. His words feel as if the take root deeply in his mysterious past.

I nod to him.

Once.

Just once.

Implying I understand.

And the most beautiful thing is that I do.

Dark and hidden is a masked past, his powerful gaze does not waver from mine and again he speaks.

"Dent is holding a press conference tomorrow," he says in his deep untamed voice, "Attend it."

I nod again slowly and wrap my arms around my waist, shivering from the cold. Then, I look down, too embarrassed to look at him whilst I speak.

"Thank you, for everything."

He says nothing.

I look up and realize that the Batman has already vanished into the night of Gotham.

Perhaps that is all the Batman will ever get in return, a whispered thank you from the decomposing souls of Gotham.

--

**A/N: Wow, how long has it been? Ugh, I don't even know myself. I am really sorry to all of you wonderful readers that I did not update sooner, but I can assure you that I will be working way more on this fun story this summer, due to the fact that I can dedicate my time to it. Thanks again for reading and please review! This chapter was very personal for the character Eva and for me to write, so I would really love constructive criticism!!! **


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